The Old ForestField Journal
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A field diary from a year in the taiga, gathered during the making of The Old Forest — a film and photographic work exploring the boreal forest.
April 24 - May 8, 2026
Between skis and paddle, between winter and spring, I move through protected forests and those left unprotected. A landscape in transition, where snow and ice give way to water and the forest returns to life.
March 23 - April 3, 2026
A ski journey into Sjaunja as spring approaches. Among old pines and shifting light, the landscape slowly comes to life again after a long winter.
February 21 - March 4, 2026
After months of midwinter darkness, the sun slowly returns to the boreal forest. Back in Muddus National Park, I watch the subtle rhythms of the forest unfold, and my empathy for its inhabitants deepens.
January 13 - 29, 2026
My January journey through the boreal forest follows a frozen river to a small mountain, where giant pines rise. A Hawk Owl accompanies me along the way, lifting my spirits and stirring a deep reverence for the land.
December 11 - 20, 2025
A midwinter journey through the taiga of Muddus: I ski through deep snow and darkness, my patience is tested, and am rewarded with fleeting moments of gentle midwinter light.
November 22 - 25, 2025
I ski across frozen marshlands and ancient pine forests in Muddus National Park, savoring the warmth of a small cabin as I journey into the stillness of midwinter.
October 16, 2025
Walking through an ancient pine forest, I come across the rare Clam Lichen, growing patiently on charred old wood. A small detail, yet it tells a story of fire, time, and the persistence of life.
September 8 - October 1, 2025
A month in the taiga, moving through mist, light, and time. One special morning carries me back to when this land was born after the ice age.
August 25-28, 2025
After a week of struggles and self-doubt, the light returns, and the red-throuted loon's eerie call echoes through the dawn. In that moment, the forest feels alive, and so do I.
June 9–15, 2025
The first trip continues, and I get deeper into the spirit of the taiga. I find a giant, 500-year-old pine — its trunk weathered, initials carved into the exposed wood.
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