A Reindeer Ride in Finnish Lapland

A trip to Lapland is not complete without a ride on a reindeer sleigh. During our recent visit to Finland, Gareth and I had yet another chance to explore the extraordinary landscape of the Arctic Circle through this traditional means of transportation.

Our friendly Ylläs Adventures guides dropped us off at the Sami homestead of a reindeer herder and after a brief demonstration of how to safely sit inside the sleigh, we were off.

Dressed in tradional Sami attire, the reindeer-herder demonstrates how to get into the sleigh.

The reindeer drawing the sleighs have their antlers removed for the safety of the passengers.

Gareth tentatively greets the reindeer that would be drawing our sleigh.

We were lucky to be assigned the front sleigh.

The reindeer were extremely friendly, and this one kept trying to push past our sleigh to say hello.

Although sitting underneath a reindeer hide, this is probably the coldest I have ever been in my life!

Our sleigh set the pace for all the others, and we had a perfect view of the landscape.

Afterwards, we were welcomed into the reindeer-herder's hut for warm drinks and snacks, and interesting reindeer facts.

And then it was time to feed the reindeer, who came in droves for a taste of lichen.

Reindeer have cloven hooves for easier snow walking.

Saying goodbye to the reindeer was the hardest part.

For more posts in the Winter Escape 2012 series, click here.

Seeking the Northern Lights by Snowshoes

It’s perfectly quiet. Gareth and I, along with Herman, our Ylläs Adventures guide, are plodding along on snowshoes through the pitch black wilderness of the Pallas-Ylläs National Park. We are in search of the aurora borealis, and we may just be lucky tonight, because the sky is clear and the temperature is a crisp -20°C.

We walk in single file, the two guys in front, while I bring up the rear. It’s hard work and tonight I am wearing so many layers of clothing that Gareth had to strap the snowshoes on me because I couldn’t bend over enough to reach my toes. My breath is steaming as I walk, and yet I am not warm, and for a change, not cold either.

As we walk, Herman fills the silence with interesting anecdotes, survival tips and local knowledge. He points out hare and reindeer tracks in the deep snow. I ask about wolves and he replies that where the reindeer freely go, the predators follow too. I find myself looking over my shoulder nervously, imagining feral eyes spying on me from between the trees.

And then it’s time to climb up a steep hill, digging the grips on the snowshoes into the hard, slippery snow and pulling myself up with complaining leg muscles. I manage fine, but for every up there’s a down and this particular down ends in a gulley through which an icy cold stream is burbling. The guys have made it safely, slipping and sliding down using their snowshoes like snowboards, but I’m standing at the top, wondering how to go about it while retaining some form of dignity.

Herman tells me to keep my balance and lean back slightly on the snowshoes and just slide down. I set one foot on the decline and promptly fall flat on my bum as the shoe slips out from underneath me. I shrug and, with the two guys laughing uproariously, proceed to slide down the slope, leaving a distinct ass print all the way down the mountain.

But now I can’t stop my descent and, giggling all the way down, I end up crashing into the trunk of a tree at the bottom of the gulley. Gareth wipes tears of laughter from his eyes as I lie in the snow, flat on my back, in yet another ditch in need of someone to help me up.

From there we brave another slippery ascent to the top of the mountain where we take respite from the cold in a half-circle wooden shelter. Herman makes a fire and heats up coffee and red-berry juice while I anxiously scan the clear skies. Only when the guys are both off in the woods, making use of the “arctic toilet”, do I see something that makes my heart skip a beat. In the distance, back towards town, a faint greenish light glows. Could this be the elusive northern lights for which we had been searching all week long?

Gareth is the first to return to the shelter. I point towards the glow, but he says he doesn’t see anything. Then Herman comes back, takes a quick glance and says it is probably light from the village reflecting in the sky. I am disappointed. Tomorrow is our last day in Finland, and this is the only possible aurora we have seen so far. I decide to ignore the guys. That faint green light off in the distance, the one only I could see, was most definitely the aurora.

We pack up and head out again, this time managing the descent without incident. We follow a ski slope back towards the parking lot where we had left the car. As we walk, I look up at the skies, trying to catch another glimpse of the peculiar green light, but without success. What I do see, however, are strange stars. Northern hemisphere stars. Herman notices me lagging behind, my head raised up, scanning the skies. He stops and points out constellations to us – Orion we know, but the Big Dipper and Cassiopeia are new to us. With nothing but ambient light around us, those foreign stars shine brightly down on us from the blackness of space. It is incredibly beautiful.

And so ends another unforgettable experience in Lapland. For more posts in the Winter Escape 2012 series, click here.

Husky Sledding in Finland

We heard them long before we saw them, an overwhelming cacophony of barking that cut short our conversations and set our eyes to sparkling in anticipation. We walked underneath a sign that read "Rami’s Huskies", past the board with safety instructions and right into the middle of mayhem. Six sleds stood ready, and tied to them were anything from four to six dogs rearing to go. If possible, the din grew even louder when the animals saw us. They were as excited as we were, probably even more so.

I’d heard before that huskies were working dogs, not pets, but was still surprised by how wild and wolf-like they were. When I was a little child, before age six, we had a snow-white Alsatian called Husky as a pet. Husky was a kind and gentle creature, and nothing like his namesakes in front of me. The two lead dogs in the sled closest to me were fighting fiercely, their muzzles red with blood and the snow at their feet speckled in crimson. Of course, this was the sled that Gareth and I were assigned to.

Gareth decided I should have the first turn at driving the sled, so while he was getting comfortable under a thick reindeer hide, I stood nervously at the back, both feet on the brake while the sled was still tied firmly to a tree, wondering how I was going to cope with the sheer power the huskies were barely keeping contained.

Our guide came round to make sure everyone was settled and ready to go. Her instructions were quick and precise: break when going downhill, lean to steer the sled, and make sure you have both feet off the ground when the huskies start running. I nodded and gulped. Shouldn’t you be licensed for this kind of thing? Before my nerves could fail me completely, the rope was untied and we were off!

Panic. Speed. Ice cold wind rushing past. Heart pounding. Exhilaration. Unexpected laughter. Joy. Freedom.

I laughed in disbelief. It was a Wednesday morning and I was in Lapland, steering a husky sled with the most indescribable feeling of sheer happiness. Another unforgettable moment.

Now that they were running, the dogs were strangely quiet, intent, focussed on their job. I was no longer somewhat afraid of them - I was amazed by them. They were in their natural element and they were magnificent. With the sled in front of us out of sight, it was almost like we were in a world of our own. We sped through the twilight forest, up and down hills and around corners. At one particularly steep incline our sled came to a stop. The huskies looked back at me, almost like they were wondering what to do now. I tentatively suggested “Mush?” and, much to my delight, they put their backs to it and we were off again.

All too soon we had to stop for lunch. No wooden shelter this time, the nine of us stood around a fire our guide made, grilling sausages and swapping stories. A couple from Germany were the first to break the ice and soon we learned that our group also harboured a young couple from Russia and two friends from Hong Kong, who regaled us with a hilarious tale of how one of them lost a mitten along the way.

With lunch wolfed down, it was time to set out again. This time Gareth was driving and I got to sit in front, admiring the scenery. It was beautiful. But while the exhilaration of steering had kept me warm enough, sitting stationary inside the sled was a completely different matter altogether. I have never in my life been that cold. My eyes were watering from the wind rushing past and soon my eyelashes were frozen solid. The condensation on the balaclava formed a frozen block of ice and whenever I pulled my gloves off for a second to take a photograph my fingers burned with the cold. I was relieved when the sled pulled into the husky compound and we were shown inside a little log house where a roaring fire awaited us.

While a few of the others stayed outside to take more pictures of the huskies, I remained by the fire with one of the girls from Hong Kong, proudly displaying the lost mitten she was lucky enough to find on the way back.

Just before it was time to leave, I braved the cold again to say goodbye to the huskies. I had come with the expectation to see cute, fluffy puppies and instead left with a profound respect for the working dogs that showed us yet another fascinating insight into the arctic lifestyle.

Thank you to Ylläs Adventures for yet another memorable adventure in Finnish Lapland. For more posts in the Winter Escape 2012 series, click here.

A Taste for Reindeer

As I've said many times before, Gareth and I are not foodies and I will never wax lyrical about a dish I've tried on this blog. When travelling abroad, we usually stay in self-catered accommodation, so we spend a fair amount of time shopping at local markets or grocery stores, trying out local foodstuffs and produce. Usually, we're quite conservative though, and we tend to stick with what is reasonably familiar.

However, we always try at least one local dish when eating out, and when in Finland we had to try reindeer. We felt really guilty about it, of course, because they're just so cute and well, it's reindeer. But we had to try it, and all I can say that the dish below, with the sweet red berries and the tangy gherkins on the side, was absolutely delicious.

For more posts in the Winter Escape 2012 series, click here.

Trouble in a Trench

Our second trip on snowmobiles was a full-day safari through the Pallas-Ylläs National Park. After the previous night's antics, I was afraid that our tour operator wouldn't allow me to drive again, but our Ylläs Adventures guide, Herman, quickly assured me that people crash their snowmobiles all the time. So I took my seat behind the wheel (somewhat nervously) again and we set out on what would turn out to be a very memorable day.

Gareth and I were the only people on this day's trip and Herman turned out to be a great guide. His knowledge about the area and the animals we encountered was astounding, and his wit and easy-going nature soon endeared him so much that we were ready to call him a friend by the end of the day.

Although I started off slowly, my confidence soon grew and I was able to keep up with the two guys. Not only did I already know how to drive the snowmobile, but this time we were doing it in daylight.

While the previous night's trip was carried out in the pitch black darkness of a Finnish winter's night, the pale sun was now bathing the white landscape in a surreal pinkish glow. I'm at a loss for words to describe just how absolutely beautiful the surrounding countryside was. We drove through a forest of tall trees, limbs heavy with snow, past burbling streams, up hills and down hills, past a sleepy farmstead where we had our first glimpse of wild reindeer in the distance, and back into the forest where we stopped for lunch at an open wooden shelter.

By that time we were famished and ready to eat just about anything. Herman quickly made tea and coffee and then surprised us with bowls of the most delicious creamy vegetable soup that I have ever had. Seriously, I would go back to Finland just to eat that soup again! It was a simple meal, but hearty, and we mopped up every last drop, not even leaving any breadcrumbs for the inquisitive robin that came closer to try its luck.

It was starting to get darker again by the time we set out on the second leg of our journey. Instead of pink, we were now surrounded by shades of white and grey. When we stopped for a breather, the absolute quiet of the Lappish forest made it seem like we were the stars of an old black-and-white silent film.

Instead of returning the way we had come, we opted to take a different, more advanced, route back. The going was more challenging, with soft snow and steeper inclines to traverse. We had so much fun! If there was any way for us to take up snowmobiling in South Africa, I'm sure Gareth and I would jump at the chance.

When we reached a particularly difficult piece of track, Herman stopped us and we all had a look at the path ahead. One side had collapsed, which meant that one ski on the snowmobile would be off track if we tried to go over it. It seemed risky, but we decided to go ahead and try. Herman went first, and he promptly fell off as his machine dipped into the trough. He quickly got back on and managed to get his snowmobile back on track. He beckoned, warning me to be careful.

I suppose you can guess what happened next. I ended up in a ditch. Again. Worse this time, the snow was really soft and deep, and when the guys heaved the snowmobile off me I was almost thigh-deep in the stuff. It made getting the machine out of the trench and back onto the track nearly impossible.

We pushed and pulled, but it wouldn't budge an inch and only got more and more stuck. Herman, prepared for every challenge, pulled a shovel out and we started digging. But for every shovelful of snow we moved, two more slid back into its place. I was begining to lose hope, thinking we might have to leave the machine behind, as it was starting to get very cold and ever darker. But I have to admire our guide's tenacity - he never gave up. After much revving, pushing and pulling, he finally managed to drive it out of the trench and back onto the path, while Gareth and I cheered him on.

Unanimously, we decided not to tempt fate further by continuing on this track and turned around to return via the easy route. Our journey home was uneventful. We passed the place where I had crashed my snowmobile the night before and parked safely in front of the safari lodge.

Herman asked if we had enjoyed the trip and wanted to know if the experience hadn't been spoiled by the trouble in the trench. We laughed his worries off. We had just had one of the most incredible days of our lives, with a story to tell that we would remember for a very long time to come!

For more posts in the Winter Escape 2012 series, click here.

A Little House in the Snow

Our week in Finland was extremely active, from snowmobiling and snowshoeing to husky sledding and reindeer riding. But when we weren't out and about, gaping at the amazing scenery, we were snuggled up inside our cute little log cabin on the outskirts of town on the edge of a frozen lake. Here we spent dark winter nights in front of a crackling wood-burning fire, drinking odd-tasting hot chocolate, catching up on our reading, and trying to decipher the Finnish subtitles scrolling at the bottom of movies and English-language TV adverts. It was the perfect setting for our home-away-from-home while in the artic circle.

The entrance to our cabin.

The kitchen and dining area was tiny, and without any packing space for groceries, but we loved sitting at the dining table and looking out at the snowy landscape while eating.

I read seven books on that couch (I love my Kindle!), while Gareth tried to learn Finnish from the subtitles in the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

We had a fire burning most of the time - it did a marvellous job of keeping the little cabin toasty.

The bedroom was upstairs in the loft. With the heat from the fire rising, we were never cold at night.

The cabin was even equiped with a sauna, which I tried out on our last night in Finland.

Our patio didn't get used much...

The thermometer constantly reminded us just how cold it was outside!

The view from our cabin with the lake in the background. Even now, I am still in awe at how beautiful it was.

For more posts in the Winter Escapte 2012 series, click here.

Flight of the Snowmobile

I’m lying in a ditch in the snow, looking up at the stars and wondering if I’m still alive or if I had died and the white stuff surrounding me are puffy clouds. I wiggle my toes tentatively. Nothing seems to be broken. And then a circle of worried faces are looking down at me. Someone asks if I’m okay. “I think so,” I reply as they lift the heavy snowmobile off me. An offered hand helps me to my feet. “Thank you. I’m fine,” I reassure everybody. I watch in a shell-shocked daze as the others try to navigate the snowmobile out of the ditch.

What the hell had happened? 

*** 

About three hours ago, Gareth and I signed indemnity forms and joined the rest of the group for our first snowmobile safari. It was around 19:00, but quite dark, and we were about to set off across the wild Finnish landscape of the Pallas-Ylläs National Park in search of the northern lights. Our group consisted of ourselves, our Ylläs Adventures guide, Helena, a young Spanish couple and a Finnish father-daughter team. Gareth and I were each assigned a snowmobile – he right behind the guide, me third in line with the rest following behind.

Helena gave us a quick briefing on how to drive and what to do in case of falling, and then we were off. I was nervous, at first. The visor on my helmet kept steaming up, making it impossible to see anything beyond my own snowmobile’s headlight. I felt exposed and out of control as I struggled to keep the machine on the track, my arms aching from the unusual exertion. It was a cloudy night with very little chance of seeing the aurora, which was just as well, because I had no time to concentrate on anything other than safely navigating this crazy vehicle.

In front of me, Gareth’s hand shot up – stop. I parked behind him and lifted my helmet’s visor. He was grinning from ear to ear, clearly exhilarated by the ride.

“This is fantastic!” he exclaimed. “I hardly have to steer,” he says as Helena came to hear how we were doing.

“Yes,” she replied. “It’s a lot like a train. Just stay in my tracks and the snowmobile will do the rest.”

It was as if a light went up for me. Here I was, trying to forge my own tracks through the hard snow, when all I had to do was stay in theirs!

I asked Helena what I could do about visibility (seriously contemplating spitting on the visor like you do to keep your goggles clear when scuba diving). She said I should try lifting the visor just a little bit, enough for cold air to come in and keep it clear. It worked like a charm!

With sight restored and my snowmobile safely skiing in Gareth’s tracks, the second leg of our journey flew past in a rush of blurry trees and numb fingers. I was almost disappointed when we stopped at a log hut for a break.

Inside the hut, Helena quickly lit a fire. She made hot beverages and doled out delicious biscuits, while the rest of us warmed our frozen digits in front of the hearth, telling stories and tentatively got to know each other. Helena gave us the scientific explanation of the phenomenon known as the aurora borealis, but I liked the folklore version better, which claims they are caused by an arctic fox sweeping up snow with its bushy tail.

The Finnish man then turned to us and told us that he had recently returned from a few weeks on safari in South Africa. He found it funny that he now encountered South Africans on their version of an exotic holiday in his own country! He congratulated Gareth on being lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a rare white bird that dove into the snow while we sped past.

Soon it was time to head out again. Helena said that we would be driving across a frozen lake where we would be allowed to travel a little faster. A little faster meant about 40 km/h and I felt confident that I would be able to handle it.

Sure enough, as we reached the flat surface of the lake, the two in front of me sped up, and I followed suit.

And then it happened.

My joy at seeing the landscape whizz past suddenly turned into anxiety as I realised I was going too fast. I tried to brake, but instead the snowmobile shot forward. I was getting alarmingly close to Gareth’s snowmobile. I let go of the handlebars completely, knowing that the snowmobile would slow down if I stopped accelerating. It didn’t. Wide-eyed and now gripping the handles, I was about to collide with the snowmobile in front of me.

I swerved at the last minute, rearing off the track and onto virgin snow. I managed to keep control, but couldn’t slow the snowmobile down. I shot past Gareth, swerved around a lamppost to the left, avoided a road sign on the right and just had enough time to think: “I might actually pull this off” when I ramped up a small incline, flew spectacularly through the air and landed in the ditch.

***

Eventually, Helena manages to drive the snowmobile out and, after a quick inspection, assures me that it isn’t damaged. I sigh in relief. Trembling slightly, I climb back on the machine and slowly, carefully, drive the few hundred metres back to the safari lodge.

Once inside, everybody teases me about my daredevil stunt. The Spaniard, who had been quiet most of the trip, launches into an unintelligible barrage of words, his gestures and facial expressions speaking volumes, ending with an impressed “professionnale!” which emitted a burst of laughter from everyone.

And so ended my first snowmobile experience. Gareth and I were to spend the whole next day on the machines, and I wondered whether they would let me drive again after the evening’s escapade... 

For more posts in the Winter Escape 2012 series, click here.