If you had told me I would one day trek through the Taiga forest, make fire like a survival beginner, inspect fox prints in the snow, eat lichen, and receive wilderness advice involving yellow snow, I would have assumed you were either lying or pitching a very niche reality show.
And yet, there I was.
Bundled up in winter overalls, somewhere outside Rovaniemi, heading into the Taiga forest with Wild About Lapland for what was politely called a wilderness survival tour.
This time, I did not repeat the mistake from the aurora tour. No casual optimism. No "I think I'll be fine." Not trusting my Indian body to understand Arctic wind.
Absolutely not.
I was layered like a seal in Antarctica, and I insisted on the snow boots.
The guide told us the Taiga is part of the largest forest chain in the world, stretching all the way toward Russia.
So technically, I was in Lapland. But also spiritually Russia-adjacent?
Браво.
The forest itself was stunning. Snow-covered trails, frozen trees, crisp air, and the kind of silence that makes you automatically lower your voice. Not because anyone told you to, but because the forest feels like it has seniority.
This was not a regular walk. This was nature saying, "Come in, but behave."
Fox Prints & a Decorative Marshmallow
We wandered through the snow while our guide explained the trees, plants, wildlife, and how to read the land around us. Very educational. Very beautiful. Very "John James Rambo, how exactly did you survive forests and snow like this?"
Because personally, my survival plan would have been:
- Panic politely.
- Look for a source of water, try climbing a tree.
- Accept my fate and freeze.
Thankfully, we had a guide.
We spotted fresh fox prints in the snow, which was very exciting. There is something oddly thrilling about seeing proof that actual wildlife passed by recently, while you are standing there in borrowed Arctic gear feeling like a decorative marshmallow with legs.
The Viewpoint Tower and Its Icy Betrayal
Then came the viewpoint tower.
The steps were filled with ice.
God bless physics lessons and a coefficient of friction approaching zero, because every step felt like a personal negotiation with gravity. If I was not careful, I would have given Hollywood the seed idea for Final Destination 6. Or 7? I don't know. They make a lot of those movies.
Anyway. I survived. Not gracefully, but survival is survival.
The view from the top was worth the icy betrayal. Snow stretched in every direction, soft and white and endless, like Lapland had been waiting all winter to show off. Fair enough. If I looked like that, I would show off too.
Fire, Lichen, and a Survival Tip Nobody Asked For
Then, we learned how to make fire using natural materials and traditional methods, which made me feel both capable and immediately humbled. The guide made it look easy, of course, because competent outdoorsy people always do. Meanwhile, I watched with the deep respect of someone whose natural habitat is "indoors with hot coffee."
Still, fire was made. Halfway through, we had hot drinks and campfire snacks, which felt less like refreshments and more like a reward for not becoming a cautionary tale in the Finnish wilderness.
And then came lichen. Yes, lichen. Apparently, the air in Lapland is so pure that lichen thrives here. It is also, according to forest gossip, like candy for reindeer.
Naturally, we tried it. Hard pass. Respectfully, I support reindeer rights, but I cannot support reindeer candy cough hash-brownies.
It tasted exactly like something a forest would offer you while testing your character.
And just when I thought the day had peaked, our guide gave us the survival tip that will live rent-free in my head forever:
If you are ever lost in the wild, do not just eat plain snow.
Plain snow? Useless.
Yellow snow? Better.
Because apparently, pee adds minerals.
I am so sorry. I also wish I did not know this.
Survival knowledge is not always glamorous. Sometimes it is just standing in the Taiga forest learning that hydration comes with terms and conditions.
Also, no.
Amma, Icon
Biggest shoutout to Amma, who was somehow more ready for this adventure than I was and did not even flinch at the lichen. I love that for her. I was out there processing the forest, the snow, the fox prints, the fire-making, and the pee-mineral lecture, while she was calmly existing like she had been training for Lapland all her life. Icon behavior.
Moon on One Side, Sun on the Other
On the way back, we returned to the same bridge, and the sky decided to be unnecessarily cinematic.
The moon was on one side. The sun was on the other.
For a second, it felt like a tragic love story.
Or maybe the night shift employee arriving before the morning shift had left.
Both interpretations are valid.
What I loved most was that the tour did not feel like a flashy tourist performance. The group was small, the pace was thoughtful, and the forest was allowed to be the main character. It was not about conquering nature. It was about listening to it, learning a little, freezing a little, and realizing how much life exists in all that white silence.
Would I do it again? Absolutely.
Would I survive alone in the Taiga armed with my new knowledge? Let us not get carried away.
