Early Evening Luxury in Finnish Winter: Enjoying the Darkness and Milky Way Right After Work
The darkest days of the year are upon us in Finland, and weekday evenings after work are pitch black. It’s easy to be tempted to curl up on the couch instead of going out. While darkness affects at least some of us negatively in the form of seasonal depression, nature and being outdoors have good health benefits that are well worth maintaining even—perhaps especially—in midwinter, so that spending time in nature doesn’t decrease just when one needs a boost the most.
I switch off the lights in the hallway, step out into the cool air, and close the door behind me. At first, I can hardly see anything and descend the stairs more out of habit than guided by sight. The towering trees hum in the wind, and above them stretches a bright starry sky. The moon is lurking somewhere, cloaked in its black shadow, so it’s especially dark.
The snowless surroundings are pitch black, and a small thrill buzzes in my stomach as I step into nature’s embrace, further away from the twinkling lights of the windows of my home. Even though I no longer fear the dark, I still remember that feeling. Getting lost or injuring oneself would perhaps be the main risks, but with caution, consideration, and moderation, they can be well minimized. Personally, I wouldn’t go into uneven or unfamiliar terrain or, for example, onto ice in the dark. For dark nature immersions, I think the best places are familiar spots right near home, even so close that you maintain visual contact with the lights from your home’s windows.
The moist, drizzly outdoor air soothes my lungs and my skin, and I focus for a moment on simply enjoying it. The air smells of slowly decomposing leaves of maple, oak, apple, and horse chestnut. A concentrated sniff also reveals that the air is about to turn slightly frosty soon.
It feels as if my eyes are actually growing in size as they adapt as best they can, trying to see even vague shapes in the velvety darkness spreading all around. A puffy winter coat and a warm beanie ensure I don’t have to shiver in the dark. With rubber boots, there’s no need to fear stepping into wet spots. Appropriate clothing is, in my opinion, one of the most important pieces of equipment when setting out to enjoy the darkness of Finnish nature—a successful experience of the dark requires that you don’t have to shiver.
It’s not even seven o’clock in the evening yet. It’s a midwinter delight that space is visible so early that people can enjoy it without the need for night-time wakefulness. We are fortunate in Finland that in so many places we can truly look at space—light pollution in sparsely populated areas is so minimal that instead of just a few stars, the entire starry sky with the Milky Way stands out clearly. Our galaxy shines, and it’s even possible to see the neighboring galaxy Andromeda near the constellation Cassiopeia.
I was strongly afraid of the dark well into my twenties, and I still remember how it felt. Shadows seemed to move on their own, and I was sure someone was stalking me. The feeling of panic in the dark was real and distressing, even though logic told me there was nothing to fear.
In the dim, mystical depths of the Nuuksio National Park, my colleague is available for hire as a nature guide at an hourly rate from the Finnish Nature Centre Haltia. It’s a perfect opportunity for someone who fears the dark, to face the darkness of nature in a controlled way, supported by the skills, knowledge, and calmness of a wilderness guide.
If I still feared the dark, I would gladly participate in a night hike with a guide. Because it’s clear that darkness is most frightening alone, and even being in pairs isn’t good if you’re both terrified and at worst fuel each other’s fears. But when you can be in the dark with a calm and experienced person who knows the area, knows what they’re doing, and whom you can trust, surely that peace would transfer to you as well. When there’s distress, the present energy of a calm person is an invaluable help.
I take a few steps into the humming embrace of the pine forest. A leaning tree groans in the woods a short distance away, and my reflex is to startle, though I immediately remember that the same trees have groaned there before, moved by the wind. In addition to the carrying creaks of the leaning trees, a fox can make truly eerie sounds in the evening darkness, but its voice doesn’t reach my ears this time.
When I was still struggling to overcome my fear of the dark, I lived far away and guided night hikes were not available. I also don’t consciously remember starting to combat the fear, but I found remedies for it partly by chance when there was no other opportunity for exercise after work than to go out alone into the dark. My remedies were these: sound in the ears, artificial lights off, and getting familiar with the constellations.
Let me elaborate.
Headphones on and some pleasant program or music in my ears clipped the wings of the bogeymen that imagination could conjure from every sound emanating from the forest. That was the most important factor for me that helped me get started—I no longer need sound to ward off fears.
Leaving artificial lights off also eliminated the frightening shadows darting around me that they caused. At the same time, the absence of light allowed my eyes to adjust to the dark so that I could properly perceive my surroundings. The world appeared in its darkness much wider and more coherent than in the glaring beam of artificial light.
Learning the constellations made the sky into a kind of steady mental anchor upon which the mind can always easily settle and calm down—under familiar patterns, there is a pleasantly homely feeling that I’m not alone nor in an unfamiliar place.
I walk slowly, stepping into the depths of the trees to a slightly more open spot with a good view of the sky. I search there for the familiar patterns. Jupiter now shines brightly between the horns of Taurus. The Milky Way appears as a pale, incomprehensibly vast twinkling band that turns slowly but surely across the sky as winter progresses. Looking at it makes me dizzy, and it feels as if I’m falling into the sky.
The silhouettes of apple trees and pines rise black into the heights around me, and I can barely distinguish them in my field of vision. Looking straight ahead, you see nothing—in complete darkness, you walk by looking out of the corner of your eye. As I occasionally take a few steps forward, I let my sixth sense work hard. With its help, I don’t bump into branches hidden in the darkness, and my steps stay steady, even though I can’t see the small irregularities on the ground ahead of me.
The black nature around me is steady and calm, even though the wind rages in the branches. In the dark, I always choose to walk in places where I know the terrain and know it to be fairly even—I wouldn’t want to end up twisting my ankle in rocky ground or falling off a cliff.
I don’t even consider using artificial light, because I know it would flash crazy shadows around me that would scare me half to death. I tried it once, and I won’t try it again. I also don’t wonder if a person afraid of the dark fears twice as much if they try to overcome the scariness of darkness with artificial lights. A beam of light may illuminate one spot, but it makes the terrain outside it feel many times more threatening. Moreover, what is peaceful and soft in lightless darkness becomes restless and unpredictable in the hurried beam of artificial light.
I stop in the silence. When you are perfectly still, so that your coat doesn’t rustle against branches and no grass or mound crunches underfoot, it is completely quiet. Then you can almost hear, smell, taste, feel the darkness. It wraps you softly and gently in its embrace. The gaze wraps around the blackness, and peace settles into your eyes. Hearing wraps into silence and the hum of the wind. The mind and body are filled with a calm and relaxing, safe feeling, where the sense of place and time disappear for a moment.
In our area, if you were really lucky, you might even hear a pack of wolves singing amid the hum. I myself have never heard it yet, even though we live between wolf territories. I hope that one evening my dream comes true, and that it would even become commonplace.
But tonight, in the darkness, only the wind playing the forests of the backwoods sings.
And that too is so beautiful, so gentle, that one could fall asleep in the forest’s embrace.
Read also:
A Trek Through the Dark Forest – Experiencing the Safety of Finnish Nature
Come to the dark side, we have lightkayaks
This is what I saw as I walked 500 meters into a dark, silent, frozen forest
Discover Evo: Southern Finland’s Hidden Wilderness Gem for Hikers
Related Content
Leave a Reply
Want to join the discussion?Feel free to contribute!