A Life in Progress

You know Spring has arrived in Sweden when snow makes way for slush and mud, heavy winter jackets are traded for lighter models, and Sweden’s orienteering clubs set up orienteering courses throughout the local woodlands to confuse and perplex the directionally challenged.

Someone told us that we could purchase a “Naturpasset,” the orienteering map for the woods in our area, from the local pharmacy. The pharmacy???

“I wonder why they sell orienteering maps at the pharmacy?” My husband, KA, asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe because every neighborhood has one and everyone goes there at some point,” I guessed.

“If that's the case, they should sell them at System Bolaget. I’ll bet people visit Systemet more often than the pharmacy.” KA said. He had a point. System Bolaget is the state-run liquor monopoly.

Anyway, we bought a map from the pharmacy, a couple of compasses from the hardware store, and took a bus out to the woods. That’s one of the great things about living in Stockholm. You can start your journey from just about anywhere in the city and, depending on where you are, you can be out in the woods in less than half an hour. We left the comfort of our IKEA sofa at 10.00 a.m. on a Saturday morning and were standing at the edge of the woods 20 minutes later.

It was then I took a really good look at the map. “What are we supposed to do with this?” I asked. The map was not anything like a normal street map. It was decorated with swirls of brown topography lines, cryptic symbols for different types of landscape or land marks, and 30 or so numbered circles that indicated where the controls (the markers set out by the orienteering club), were to be found.

“Don’t worry,” KA reassured me. “I’ve done this before. It’ll be fun. Listen up now. The top of the map should face north. Use the compass to orientate the map. . .” I listened intently while he gave me a short lesson in the use of map and compass.

“Got it? Good. OK, We’ll take turns. I’ll find the first control, and you can find the next one.” And off we went. We started off sticking to the trail, but then we finally had to veer off into the woods.

“It should be about 100 meters south of this point," said KA.

“You mean we have to go off the trail and tromp through the woods? What if we get lost?”

“That’s the whole point of having a map and compass! We’re not going to get lost!”

“Well, if you're sure we can get back, let’s go then.”

To know how far 100 meters is, we had to take more or less evenly spaced steps and count each one. Just try taking even steps around trees and over roots, rocks, branches, and mud. And then what do you do when you run into something big, like an impenetrable grove of trees or a field of giant bolders?

“I lost count,” I said, after we had made our way around one such obstacle.

“It’s OK. I think we’re about there,” said KA.

A thorough search of the area turned up nothing. “What exactly is it we’re looking for, anyway?” I asked.

“I don’t know, a little flag or something. Come on, let’s retrace our steps. . .”

About thirty minutes later, we discover our first control, a small piece of plastic the size of a couple of credit cards anchored to a tree. This was truly a cause for celebration!

“Yippee!! Write down the number!” KA said, slapping me on the back so hard in his excitement that I coughed. Each control had a number, and you were supposed to find them all, record the numbers, and send in your completed control card to the orienteering club. We were off to a grand start! We stood there for another ten minutes, just savoring the victory, when suddenly, we heard a crashing sound coming at us from behind.

“Look out!” KA said, pulling me away from the control. “What was that?” I said, as we watched a fit young man in a body-hugging athletic suit run at full speed to the control, note the number, glance at his compass, and tear off into the woods again, all in one swift motion, without even so much as a "Hej".

“Wow, a professional! How do they do that without tripping on all the undergrowth?” KA wondered.

I sincerely wished he hadn’t mentioned tripping. The next control was my responsibility, and the first thing I did after taking command of compass and map was to lose my footing on some mossy growth clinging to a rock.

“You OK?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. My pants sported a new jagged hole, and blood oozed slowly out of an equally jagged scrape peaking through the tear. “It’s just a scrape. Let’s get on with it,” I said, trying to sound more brave than I actually felt.

After we had wandered for what seemed to be another 30 minutes, KA stopped me. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” he asked?

“Of course not! I’ve never done this before!” I snapped.

“Let me see what you’re doing here. . .Geez! You’ve got the bottom of the map facing north! It’s upside down!”

“Oh, yeah, well, my mistake. . .Now we’re really lost, right? I’m really sorry. . .”

“Ah, CRAP!” KA exclaimed.

“I said I’m sorry! Don’t be mad at me!”

“I’m not mad at you! I just stepped in moose crap! I'm sure we passed this same pile of poop three times now, and now I've finally stepped in it!”

“That’s disgusting!” Try to wipe it off on that bit of grass over there. . .” When KA returned a moment later, I noticed his left eye was slightly swollen. “What happened to your eye,” I asked.

“I don’t know, but you’re swelling up, too. I itch all over!” KA said as he slapped his arm.

It was then we realized that we were being consumed alive by mosquitoes, who were obviously delighted to find that a couple of American fast food restaurants had moved in right there in their neighborhood. I could almost hear them licking their little straw noses with delight: “Mmm. That was the best meal I’ve had in a long while. . .I just love ethnic food. . .they taste like, what? American-Mexican food and margaritas! I’m going back for seconds!”

We finally found our way back to the bus stop, and the bus driver gave us a strange look as we staggered aboard in tattered clothing, bleeding, swelling, itching, and smelling vaguely of moose dung.

Now we understood why they sold the orienteering maps at the pharmacy—so you could pick up all of the mosquito cream, tick pickers, sore salve, and bandages you were going to need to fix yourself up when you got home. I don’t know why they don’t sell the maps at the hospital emergency room. That would make even better sense.

From May to October, the controls remain at their stations in the woods, just waiting to be discovered. Returning numerous times to the woods throughout that same timeframe, we eventually found all of the controls. Just to give you an idea of the skill level represented here, a real orienteering person would have found all the controls in one afternoon and returned home without one single tear in his or her sleek outfit.

We had diligently recorded all the control numbers we found and sent the crumpled, blood-smudged card away to the orienteering club that had published the map.

I thought they wanted this information to gauge how many people actually braved the woods, but a few weeks later, we received an envelope in the mail from the orienteering club. Inside was a card showing two children standing in the woods studying a map. It was a certificate of achievement that any 10-year old would have been proud to hang in his or her bedroom.

The certificate had our names on it.