Riisitunturi National Park: Wonderland of snow and ice (English)

Imagine if you could keep the amazed eyes of a child forever. Eyes that look at something for the very first time – unbiased, full of curiosity and sparkle. Would it change the way you see the world?

Just below the Arctic Circle in the southernmost tip of Finnish Lapland, close to the Russian border, lies Riisitunturi National Park, hidden in a patch of untouched nature. 

It's a landscape that is second to none in winter. A wonderland of artistic tree shapes, surreal and frozen in time.

The phenomenon is called "tykkylumi" in Finnish, meaning a thick layer of snow and ice that clings to pines and spruces in heavy frost and high humidity. Not many places in the world create conditions like these, and that's exactly why the idea captivates me.

It's an early morning in January. The scent of new chapters and adventures is in the air.

We traveled to Finland to find out how impressive the frozen trees really are.

The weather forecast has predicted a cold spell. The rental car's outside sensor registers a drop in temperature almost every second. Even on the way to the starting point of our hike, one thing is clear: This is going to be the coldest day of my life!

A shiver runs down my spine. Not because of the cold, but because I'm so overwhelmed by the thought of experiencing something for the first time.

When we pull into the parking lot, the thermometer stands still at -43 °C. I get out of the car and realize immediately: I'm up for it! I'm up for hiking in the cold, I'm up for breathing in the cold, I'm up for being in the cold!

We get our snowshoes out of the trunk, I put them under my feet and shoulder my rucksack. The camera stays packed in it – I'm not sure how it will cope with the extreme temperature. I carry the spare batteries on my body to prevent them from discharging.

Luckily, a balaclava had found a place in my suitcase at home. I slip it over my face, put on a tightly knitted hat and pull the hood of my jacket over it. The layers on my body are numerous, and I end up with three pairs of socks and two pairs of gloves. It's worth the effort, I feel like I'm on a mild winter day in good old Germany.

As soon as I take my first steps through an enchanted forest of tall spruce trees that reach straight up into the sky, I notice my mind going quiet. Even expectations give way, and I am weightless despite my luggage.

This morning brings us dry cold that doesn't creep into the openings of my sleeves. There is absolutely no wind, and the sky is clear. At half past ten, the sun is about to rise. I can hardly wait for this moment, as it only appears for three hours at this time of year. So it doesn't rise very high, which means the landscape is constantly bathed in the pastel-colored light of sunrise and sunset. "Cotton Candy Season" is what I call this time, when strolling through the snowy surroundings feels like strolling through a land of milk and honey made of pink and orange cotton candy.

After passing by a wilderness cabin, we take a break just below the highest point, after an hour of moderate exercise. The layered look has made me very warm, and I can feel some water trickling down my back. As it would be fatal to free myself from one layer at this point, I immediately discard the idea and feel suitably dressed again after a few minutes. Fortunately, we remembered to put the water bottle in the rucksack upside down. As the surface freezes first, this was one of the good plans. Half of the bottle's contents have already changed from a liquid to a solid state. It's good to have something to drink with me, even though the ice-cold water almost hurts.

Suddenly, a warm ray of sunshine tickles my nose, and the landscape begins to change its color. We make our way up the last few meters to enjoy every minute of light at the top of the hill.

As I look up from the snow-covered ground, goose bumps cover my whole body. I can hardly make sense of my feelings because they're unlike anything else. In front of me, a huge army of snow monsters is piled up in massive ice armor. But at first glance, I recognize: The giants staring at me are gentle and peaceful. I approach them slowly, my eyes wide and my mouth open. My feet feel like they are taking their first steps.

It's been many years since I was last so amazed, back when I was a child. In this moment, I find the connection to myself and to the world. It's a moment of impartiality and purity, in which I suddenly believe once again that miracles can come true.

I consciously take my time before taking my camera out of its secure packaging to internalize this feeling and keep it as a treasure.

The view in all directions is endless, and we are completely alone. It's as if we were on another planet – a new one that we've just discovered. No one has left their mark before. The snow is untouched and free of footprints. The silence feels like a vacuum in which no sound can propagate.

I take off my rucksack, pick up my camera, and start taking pictures. The camera does a fantastic job and never even comes close to reaching its limits. This enables me not only to carry the special feeling within me, but also to bring it back for all to see.

As the sun sinks into invisibility, we decide to turn back to the wilderness cabin to make a fire outside, grill a veggie sausage and wait for the stars to come out.

Under the cover of darkness, we want to climb the hill again, because we're too curious about the magical scenery. As if nature hadn't already blessed us enough, the moon is full, and I imagine the snow giants to be breathtaking when they are only illuminated by moonlight.

The cold is growing more intense, and despite the warming flames, it's not just the icicles hanging from the cabin's roof that are getting longer – the ones on our faces are too. My eyelashes had already naturally lengthened and turned white on the way up the hill. We can't stay outdoors for very long without moving. My feet start to ache, and I keep curling my toes to keep them happy. That's why we're glad when night falls.

We extinguish the fire, repack our rucksacks and start the hike again. Using our own tracks as a guide speeds up our way in limited visibility. The light of the moon shows us the direction.

The army of the peaceful snow monsters stands in place, motionless and even more impressive than before. I'm overcome by an epic feeling that captivates me under the sparkling canopy of the sky and carries me far away into a distant galaxy.

I'm convinced that nature can teach us wonders and give us hope. Often, it is the smallest and seemingly most insignificant things that hold the greatest amazement. We just don't look closely or don't take the time to look closely. But those who do will realize how healing it is to focus on what is essential.

A snowflake falling from the sky has the power to make the whole world stand still – if you let it!