Between 15 and 15:30, we all embarked upon a joint ascent of Neklumpen, the large hill above the cabin. The first bit, through the trees, was quite calm, but as soon as we started to gain altitude the wind returned. The upper portions were hard and icy, but there was little trouble involved in reaching the top. There the wind was stronger still, which in conjunction with the slippery surface required a bit of balance in order not to "glide off". We stood there for a while admiring the splendid views – the higher reaches of the Sylarna massif was still veiled in cloud, evidently acting as a vapor magnet, halting the clouds drifting on the easterly wind up there, thereby allowing the western lands to have the weather we had.
The descent took place on the northern side, following the curvature of the terrain down to the Storerikvollen trail. As I was skiing along that trail I heard the sound of snowmobiles behind, and stopped to see two such machines come down the slope roughly the same way as we had. Two of the Norwegians had continued on ahead, but the third one was still standing at the spot where we had reached the trail, and the snowmobile drivers stopped to talk with him for a bit. From my vantage point perhaps a hundred meters away, they looked like men of the fjeld rescue service, which was later confirmed.
They had seen our tracks going down, so perhaps they decided to follow them in case someone had broken a leg or something. They were "on patrol", on their way from Sylarna to Storerikvollen (rounding the massif), and they were aware of three Norwegians who had left the Sylarna station for Nedalshytta in the morning. They didn't mention anything about a Swede, though, so apparently the eyes of the Big Brethren aren't all-seeing – yet...
Upon returning to the cabin at around 16:45, two of the others set about climbing the low inclines right behind the building, making jumps and the like, while the third made himself comfortable out in the sun. My phone rang, but the call was cut short; apparently its battery hadn't fared too well either, and the device simply shut down. Since warmth usually cures such maladies to an extent, I left the phone turned off inside, and stayed there myself as well.
Having satisfied my need for outdoor activities for the day, I crawled out of the "sportswear" and put on leisure clothes. I rummaged through the small bookshelf and found a few publications worthy of note, and set about reading. The others came in shortly, and went on to offer a sip of brandy – or two. A tranquil time followed as the last rays of the sun played upon the snowy rooftops, before I began giving serious thought to dinner and the preparing thereof.
While my freeze-dried goo was congealing, the Norwegians set about cooking – really cooking – their own food, the intricacy of which was several orders of magnitude higher. They weren't ready until after I had eaten, but I was immediately invited – no, compelled – to join them. I didn't take that much, however, for obvious reasons. I then went on reading, before I was recalled to the table for dessert: fruit soup and chocolate.
As a clear pattern should have been established by now, it should astonish no one that I spent the rest of the evening reading. It was calm outside, and not particularly cold, and just as before the moon and stars were shining from an otherwise empty sky. I took a number of photos of the bluish sheen, praising the camera's capacity for long exposures. In that respect it was superior to the camera of one of the Norwegians, which couldn't really gather as much light as was needed. For this reason, I was asked to share my pictures once I got home, so I wrote down the URL of this site (hi, are you reading? :) ). Since I was rather full I felt no need for an evening snack, and when the time was approaching 22:30 I decided to call it a night, while the others stayed up talking.