Chasing Away the Monday Blues at Dagmar’s Park in Raseborg
As late summer settles over the coast and everyday routines resume in many Finnish households, one hiking destination after another grows quiet again. This is the time of year when even summer’s busiest spots can be experienced in peace, while the weather is still holding onto its warm, gentle character. We headed out on a Monday to Dagmar’s Park, a stone’s throw from Tammisaari. We had the whole place to ourselves for a peaceful morning in nature.
Dagmar’s Park
- Location on the map
- Route to the spring: 800 m each way, plus plenty of paths in the surrounding area
- Campfire site: no
- Accessible: partially
- Arriving by car: Parking area on Leksvallintie
- Arriving by public transport: not possible
Monday mornings really aren’t my thing. Even though I have a wonderful job, and even though my weekends leave me rested and refreshed in a pretty healthy way, my mood on Monday mornings just isn’t the sunniest. So when my colleagues happened to schedule our shared morning hike for exactly that day, I found myself worrying at first that I’d ruin the outing for everyone with my grey energy. But, just as reason might have predicted, almost the moment I stepped out of the car and into the middle of the forest, the Monday grump dissolved into the fresh air of the pines.
We had arrived at the parking area of Dagmar’s Park, and around us spread beautiful forest nature, still damp and fragrant and cool from the night before. Since I’d never been here before, I had the newcomer’s advantage: everything was new to me.
Sunlight filtered through gaps in the clouds and between the pines, onto the trail. A soft coastal morning mist hung in the air, giving the shadowed corners of the forest a gentle blue tint. Where it touched the ground, the sun drew out the pale and wine-red tones of the heather and the blueberry bushes already turning autumn colours, the yellow-green of the moss carpet, and the glossy dark-green leaves of the lingonberry bushes with their red berries.
A wide, level path beckoned us onward, but the almost magical feel of the forest kept slowing our steps. I breathed in the air with my eyes closed now and then — beneath the scent of pine and late summer there was a hint of the sea too — and crouched down to photograph the forest floor in the beautiful backlight.
The star attraction of Dagmar’s Park is Dagmar’s Spring. Born in 1847, Danish Princess Dagmar became Empress of Russia, and she loved spending her holidays here. In 2017, a new chapter began in the story of Dagmar’s Park, when Fiskars Group renovated the area it owned and gifted it to Finland for the country’s 100th anniversary of independence.
We reached the spring and listened to its babbling and trickling. The water tumbled down step by step, and each little step had a sound of its own. I watched for a long time as crystal-clear, ice-cold droplets shimmered for a moment on the water’s surface before merging back into the stream to continue their journey to the sea. The ferns and mosses around us were hypnotically green and lush, and my eyes and mind sank into their details for a long while. The best moments were when the sun caught the spring and made the water trace golden circles of light on the fine sandy bottom.
The spring’s first trickles begin higher up on the slope, deep in the forest. From there, the path led us down along the lazily meandering stream toward the shore. Källviken, the spring’s bay, was beautiful — I’d seen its beauty in photos before, but in person it was on a completely different level. Best of all, we were the only ones on the shore.
For a while we each drifted off to our own pursuits. One of us admired the spring water cascading into its stone basin before slipping into the sea. Another took in the view from the jetty, and I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my trouser legs, and waded into the sea. It was lovely to pad along the fine sandy bottom, feeling the water and sand between my toes. The water near where the spring meets the sea was icy cold. I walked back and forth several times, just feeling the water on my feet and listening to the sound of my own wading. Every now and then I stopped, faced the sea, and let the air touch my skin. The sounds, sensations, and scents of summer. I don’t want to let go of any of it.
The sky began to draw itself into a more unbroken layer of cloud, and the sunbeams grew fewer and fainter. I padded out of the sea, wiped the biggest drops of water off my feet, and balanced my way back into socks and shoes. We continued along the shoreline toward a rocky headland where, according to the map at the parking area, there was supposed to be a lookout point.
The wide path drew us briefly away from the shoreline and back into the murmuring embrace of the forest. Now the open pine woods gave way to a more varied mix of conifers, with standing deadwood, fallen trunks, and younger trees, the occasional rowan or other deciduous tree, and lush heather bushes adding splashes of colour. I breathed in the scent of heather and admired the wine-red autumn colours of the blueberry bushes. There were still stray berries here and there too, many of them still firm and tasty. Bit by bit my fingers turned purple as we went, and my body got a dose of nourishment and good forest microbes.
From the brow of the rocky headland, the view really did carry a long way. We recognized Tammisaari’s old water tower on the horizon. The wind was picking up now, damp and wonderfully cool, salty and gentle. I let my hair down and turned my neck into the wind — it felt good to let the air cool my scalp beneath all that thick hair. These are the kinds of sweet moments I can only long for once winter comes.
We started heading back through the forest.
The inland path invited us to keep moving rather than linger, but here and there flowers, striking dead trees, and — best of all — a copper-glinting slow worm caught our careful attention. The slow worm was small, and it had lost the tip of its tail somewhere along the way. Shyly, it slithered off the edge of the path into the shelter of the undergrowth, in among the lingonberries and heather.
We followed one more side path, which led into the forest on the opposite side of Källviken from the rocky headland we’d just visited. Views toward Tammisaari opened up between the trees, and I believe I could also make out the shoreline cliffs of Ramsholmen.
Close to the shore we found the Empress’s Table — a table and bench made of stone. My colleagues examined the sight with great interest; my own attention was more caught up in the sea and its scents, its vastness and its sounds.
Back at the car, I could hardly believe the Monday grump had ever existed at all. Nature is a powerful weapon for turning a grey mood bright, a sluggish body limber, tiredness into energy, and boredom into curiosity. Maybe I should make a habit of this — making sure that on Monday mornings, before work starts, I at least take a short turn out in nature.
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