With no chance of internet access, Chelsia phoned through this blog entry as soon as her mobile received the weakest of signals
No way around it: the Avtsusjvagge snowfield
This is amazing. I have not seen or spoken to anyone for two days. I am alone, completely and utterly alone in all this huge vastness. Does that scare me? Not a bit, I feel totally exhilarated.
I started this section hiking through birch and pine forest with sun filtering through obliquely to highlight dense patches of blue and yellow flowers, known locally as Midsummer Blue and Butter Rose. It is so magical, I almost expect to see Hansel and Gretel chasing each other around the trees. Even the mosquitoes are well behaved and take orders from my thickly applied Deet. Then, just to bring me down to earth, my first mishap. Crossing a stream on stepping stones, I wobble on a loose one and - thanks to the 21kg on my back - lose my balance and have an early bath. But with only the flowers as witness, I recover composure and drip smartly out of the forest.
Once above the tree line, it is a steady climb to the top, which is flat and I can see the Skarki and Apar peaks in the distance. It is so high here, I feel I am standing on top of the world. There is this huge sense of space again and the stillness of it all. I feel my senses heightened in keeping: a calmness pervades and an attuning to the natural rhythm of all creation. Resting on a rock, I lose all concept of time. But thickening clouds damp me into action and I rumble for my waterproofing. The Swedes have a saying: "there is such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing", and I have run the gamut from summer tops to thermals.
I descend to the shores of the Sitojaure Lake, grubby, hungry and tired, and cast about for a suitable flat rock to serve as a bathroom. I scoop my hands into the icy water and am as startled as the fish I almost catch. Pity, he would have made a welcome break from the cured reindeer meat and raisins which have been my staple diet. Yes, I know dehydrated haute cuisine is readily available, but this experience is about getting away from the by-products of sophisticated civilisation so I stick to real food.
My route then takes me back up the mountains which are now covered with grasses and the ubiquitous ground birch. This makes good cover for birds and I watch a family of grouse with three chicks foraging. Then I hear a plaintive piping and stop to listen. An answering call comes from behind me, a tone lower. Then another to the right two tones higher and one further to the right, higher than that. If only I had a baton we could have an orchestral rehearsal. I see four little mountain pipers navigating towards each other on dainty legs. I leave them to it and tramp over the ridge, where, to my horror, I discover I have to negotiate a snowfield. It is longer than the eye can see so there's no way round it. I search out the narrowest bit - 50 to 75m wide - and gingerly, very gingerly, aware of the destabilising weight on my back, inch my way back, ruing not having snow fittings on my boots.
At last, I am over it. I sit down to recover and a tiny blue butterfly flutters over to congratulate me. She swoops a victory salute, claps her wings, then flits back to join a group of about 15 others enjoying a morning gossip. Very social, these blue butterflies. I move on, and my friend detaches herself from the group again and dots up the path ahead of me pausing now and then to check my progress, like Tinkerbell leading me on. The next ridge is scree and I have to take this on all fours to keep stable. It takes me an hour to ascend. Eventually I make it to the top, and am rewarded with breathtaking views: row after row of lakes, dotted with islands and surrounded by high peaks. The water is so still everything is perfectly reflected and here I must pause again to feel the stunning beauty of this timeless place.
• Chelsia Tongue is Guardian Unlimited's grey Netjetter, having won a competition to take her dream trip to the world's hot and cold wildernesses. You can email her support and suggestions at chelsia.netjetter@theguardian.com and read her competition entry here
