Myths of the North
A Journey into Finnish Folklore
Words and Photography by Lana Tannir
I hover in the knee-deep snow with my camera tripod, gazing up at the sky. It is –30°C, and a frosting of ice glues my eyelids together every time I blink. I am alone in Urho Kekkonen National Park in Finnish Lapland. The time is 3.00am. Silence engulfs me – a silence filled by my rhythmic heartbeat, the whisper of my frozen breath, and the crackling snowflakes glistening in the moonlight.
As I wait, I recall the vivid prose of Philip Pullman, whose His Dark Materials novels have inspired me to dream of witnessing the Northern Lights since I was a child. Yearning to make fiction into a reality, I chase those enigmatic dancing particles, which in the narrative symbolise consciousness, knowledge, and wisdom.
Finland is a land of mythology. Its culture embraces a rich tapestry of whimsical beings and rituals that provide insight into the world view of its ancestors. Finno-Ugric tribes developed a strong bond with nature and a profound reverence for the forces that influence the world. They held an animistic belief that assigned spirits to every individual tree, stream, stone, person, animal, lake, and flower. They also revered supreme gods and goddesses. These embodied the very essence of nature, and governed specific elements, like water and the forest.

Traditional stories were passed down orally from generation to generation through folklore and poem-singing. The first written stories emerged in the 16th century, composed by Finnish clergyman Mikael Agricola, who is today deemed the father of literary Finnish. Besides Agricola’s stories, the national epic Kalevala [Land of Heroes], published in 1835 by Elias Lönnrot, has played a significant role in shaping Finnish cultural identity. Journeying through the Finnish-Russian borderlands, Lönnrot recorded the ballads and charms of rural communities, crafting a captivating narrative of spells, love, war, and revenge. His mythic chronicle ignites the imagination and national spirit of the Finnish people to this day and continues to be a source of inspiration in literature, art, and folklore.
My journey into the country’s folklore began with the ponderings of a local bus driver. As a seasoned inhabitant of the Arctic Circle, he nonchalantly glided along the icy road as snowflakes splattered against the windshield and wind whistled between the wheels. The route was familiar to him, and so were the weather conditions. ‘Halla has arrived,’ he said. ‘You have to be careful, as –30°C will feel like –50°C in this wind.’ In Finnish, Halla is the personification of the nightly frost. The pale, ghost-like creature arises from the underworld towards the beginning of winter. Roaming across the land after dark, it induces the crisp weather and freezes people’s hands and noses. While not deemed a malicious spirit, the most effective manner to protect oneself from Halla is through warm attire.
I observed the markings of Halla on the bus driver’s coarse knuckles and maroon-coloured cheeks, which radiated as they thawed from the frost. Absorbed in his astute demeanour and enchanting story, I startled as the vehicle abruptly came to a halt, then stumbled out of the bus and yanked my luggage through the snow. Halla grazed my own bare fingers. Even though it was only late afternoon, the polar night enveloped the landscape in its blue veil. After six hours of travelling, I had arrived in Saariselkä – a small town in Finnish Lapland.

In Lapland, there is a belief that a unique kind of magic saturates the air. Breathing it in results in a profound transformation, coupled with an extraordinary feeling of happiness and renewal. The mystical energies of this region are also alluded to in His Dark Materials, which features a clan of witches residing in the woods of Lapland. Unfazed by the cold, these sorceresses absorb the clairvoyant particles of the aurora borealis directly into their bare skin. This endows them with wisdom, knowledge, and profound perception.
As a lone female traveller, Pullman’s imagery resonated with me as I roamed through Saariselkä, aspiring to immerse myself in the secrets of the north. With only 350 inhabitants, this compact resort village harbours hotels, cottages, and cabins scattered alongside a vast expanse of boreal forest that comprises the Urho Kekkonen National Park. One of Finland’s largest protected areas, the national park covers 2,500km2 and extends eastwards all the way to the Russian border. Engulfed by the darkness and shielded from anthropogenic interference, it is between these towering trees that I will strive to encounter the aurora borealis, just like the witches in Pullman’s book.
Upon collecting the key to my cabin, I enter the snug interior, whose wooden walls and rustic fireplace offer a warm embrace from the ferocious outside temperatures. Cabins and cottages comprise a cornerstone of Finnish culture and are used by the locals to connect with nature and take time to rest and relax. Yet, as I sit on the couch and gaze out of the window in the soft silence, the thoughts in my mind begin to brim with doubt: What if the weather refuses to cooperate? What if the Northern Lights only appear while I am asleep? Can I get lost in the national park? And do wolves and wolverines roam in Finnish forests?
I spent hours in the cabin, anxiously monitoring the Northern Lights radar on my laptop screen and occasionally peeking my head out of the frozen door to gaze at the sky. Despite dense cloud cover and a poor aurora forecast, I decided to assemble my camera gear. To escape the frosty grasp of Halla, I layered up so extensively that I struggled to stand tall in my bulky gear: ski socks, Alaskan winter boots, a long base layer, cross-country ski trousers, a cotton sweater, windbreaker, a lengthy winter coat, scarf, beanie, hat, and two pairs of gloves. Then, with my heavy camera bag and a Thermos scorching with tea, I ventured outside.

Soft moonlight blends with the red gleam of my head lamp as I survey the sky. Towering like ancient sentinels, the spruce and pine trees of the national park surround me, their limbs extending towards the dispersed clouds and distant stars peeking through. In the footsteps of ancient Finnish hunters, I eagerly seek Tulikettu – a mythical fire fox who dashes across Lapland’s fells.
Revered for its remarkable speed and agility, the elusive fox is rarely sighted, dwelling in remote hideouts in the woods amid snowy hills during the day. As it comes out at night, it races across the fells and its bristly tail brushes up against trees, bushes, and rocks, igniting sparks that set the sky ablaze. This spectacle produces vibrant ribbons of green, yellow, violet, and red, known as revontulet or ‘fox fires’ in Finnish – the enchanting Northern Lights.
Akin to the tales of Finnish folklore, the aurora borealis assumes a principal role in Pullman’s narrative. Portrayed as ‘Dust,’ the mystical charged particles impact all sentient life and span a bridge between countless parallel universes. While children remain untouched by Dust, adolescents and adults become fully enveloped by the particles, embodying the consciousness, wisdom, and knowledge that is linked with maturity. Dust also connects humans to their dæmons – unique creatures that appear as animals, representing part of a person’s soul residing outside of their body. Dæmons are, in fact, created from Dust.
Whose dæmon would Tulikettu symbolise in Pullman’s books? As I contemplate this amidst the frosty surroundings, a nebulous green fabric appears above the trees, dispersing the darkness. With increasing radiance, the luminous particles begin to contort across the sky – an ethereal serpent brimming with curiosity. Then the sky explodes with a firework of colours that spiral, weave, and tremble among the stars. Tears cascade down my face and crystallise into icy droplets. I’m blending the narrative of my childhood with the reality before my eyes. My camera shutter echoes in the silence and a feeling of tranquillity overcomes me. Just like in His Dark Materials, a gateway to a parallel universe unfolds, and the enchanting particles beckon me inside with their magnetic embrace.
As dawn breaks, I return to my cabin. I can feel a profound transformation washing over me. My senses are heightened. I feel the pastel dawn light caress me, hear the snowflakes crackle as they lay down on the ground after drifting gently from the sky, and embrace the forest that welcomes me with its rustling branches. And my curiosity for Finland grows.

After a week in Saariselkä, I venture south-west to Kittilä. In His Dark Materials, the protagonist Lyra employs a mystical device called the alethiometer to help her learn hidden facts by communicating with Dust. Echoing this, my encounters with the Northern Lights in Urho Kekkonen National Park have inspired me to delve deeper into the concealed truths of Finnish forests. However, instead of consulting Dust for guidance, I rely on local insights.
On the outskirts of Kittilä, I meet local married couple Riitta and Steffan at their family forest, HaliPuu (hugging tree). With her confident stride and light-hearted demeanour, Riitta guides me through the dense snow towards their wooden forest shelter. Acknowledging each trunk like an old companion, she says that in Finnish folklore, individual tree species are believed to possess unique energies. Spruce trees reflect the moon and night. They are associated with old age and wisdom. Pine trees personify the sun and the day and are considered to be human-like and peaceful. She notes that, upon a person’s passing, Finno-Ugric tribes used the pine tree as a merkkipuu, or a marking tree. The pine bark was removed and the individual’s date of birth and death was carved into the tree, similar to a gravestone.
We reach the forest shelter and meet Steffan, who lingers by a rustic kettle that steams on the fire. While savouring a cup of his home-made coffee, Riitta’s eyes brighten as she shares the story of her grandfather, who sought refuge from the battles of World War II by retreating to this secluded forest. ‘The forest provided food, shelter, and income for my grandfather’s growing family. Later, when it was under threat from felling, we decided to turn it into a safe haven for people from around the planet, so that they can connect with nature in the way that we do.’
Echoing the sentiment of her grandfather, Riitta says that the forest is her sanctuary and place of counsel. ‘Sometimes, we humans find ourselves burdened with worries. We may have hopes and dreams that we do not want to share with other people. And every now and then, we might just want an outlet for all the thoughts and ideas buzzing around in our minds.’ As her words echo between the trees, I realise that the forest is Riitta’s alethiometer, serving as an inner compass to navigate life’s complexities.
I consider these ideas as I savour the warmth of the blazing bonfire. Riitta, Steffan, and I have a shared bond: harnessing the power of Mother Nature to guide, connect, inspire, and enlighten us. As this chapter of my journey comes to an end, I foresee returning home as a changed individual – an adult dusted with the enchanted particles of the aurora borealis, adorned with wisdom, knowledge, and consciousness.
First published in Sidetracked Volume 29