‘This is Lucas, my lead dog, and his brother. They listen to all my commands and lead the team.’ The man, who has introduced himself as Björn, rubs the dog’s head affectionately and speaks to it softly. He’s far friendlier to his dogs than he’s been to me, that’s for sure. As I watch, he pulls out something from his pocket that look like booties and starts to put them on the dogs’ feet.
‘Behind the lead dogs are my swing dogs; they help move the sled, following the lead dogs’ path, particularly round corners. They pull the team in an arc. Then come the team dogs.’ He goes down the central line to which the dogs are attached in pairs, one either side of the line, putting booties on each paw. ‘Right at the back are the wheel dogs.’ He points. ‘They’re my biggest dogs. They are strong, steady and calm, not easily startled. They take the weight when the sled moves off and up hills. Whatever happens, the dogs mustn’t get caught in the line.’
He hands me a handful of booties. ‘Put those on your team.’ He nods towards the second sled. ‘Helgá is your lead dog. She’ll look after you. She’s very steady and reliable.’
I look at the row of dogs and back down at the booties in my shaking hand. I step forward and try and say hello to Helgá. She throws her head back and barks and I cross my hands across my chest, fear gripping me once more. What am I thinking of? There’s no way I can do this. I’m terrified of dogs!
I turn to see if Björn has noticed. But he hasn’t; he’s still putting booties on his own team. I know this is the moment to say, ‘Actually, I can’t. Of course I can’t drive a dog sled team. I’ll have to go back to the hotel and wait. I’m not going to be able to get the rings there on time.’ He turns to look at me. The snow is falling a little more heavily. The dogs are anxious to go. The reindeer milling around clearly want to get going too. One of them starts walking towards me, huge antlers swinging that could really take your eye out! I dart backwards and the reindeer doesn’t follow me, thank God.
‘Okay, ready?’ Björn stands up from putting on the last bootee and tuts. ‘I thought you said you were a fast learner!’
There’s something in me, something obstinate that won’t let this man look at me as if I’m some kind of a flake. And there is no way I’m waiting here, on my own, for Lars to come back and get me. No way at all! I have to keep moving. I think of the rings; of my travel log. I’m not on my own if I have that. I can’t let Griff down by losing it. That’s why I have to do this! Besides, I can just imagine that if Lars did come back for me, he’d think he was my knight in shining armour and demand my hand in marriage. The thought makes me smile, despite my desperate situation.
‘The boots?’ Björn barks like one of the dogs. ‘Quickly! We need the light if we’re to make it to our first stop tonight.’
‘The boots. Of course.’ I move towards Helgá again, and start to bend down to her paws. The memory of the last time I was this close to a dog is clear in my mind. And the pain as, without warning, it launched itself at my face. But Helgá doesn’t move, so I bend in a little closer, arms outstretched, my heart pounding like it’s going to burst out of my chest.
Suddenly the dog throws up its head and lets out a long ‘Whoo, whoo, whoo, whooooooooo!’ I stumble back, terrified, dropping doggy booties all around me. Björn tuts again, before picking up the booties and quickly fitting them onto the dogs’ paws.
‘And there was me thinking you were going to be a help,’ he mutters. ‘Helgá is Lucas’s daughter. She has her father’s instincts. She’ll look after you. This is a steady team. You just have to stay put and they’ll follow me. Now, this is your sled. You stand here . . .’
He’s talking, but it’s like I’m in the next room. I can’t believe this is actually happening. Am I really going to be taking a dog sled team out there? I try and concentrate, but inside I’m screaming and want to run away. I look out at the snowy wilderness and shiver, a shiver that comes right from my core, and I don’t know if it’s cold or absolute terror. The reindeer are starting to move forward, bumping into each other, nudging each other with their long antlers – those that have them. To say this is surreal is an understatement. At least I’ve got something to write in my travel log when I’m finally reunited with it, and the tiniest of smiles tugs at the corner of my mouth. Soon, soon I’ll be writing this down as another one of my adventures, a story filling the pages of my book. And that’s how I get by, day to day, page by page.
Now the sled is really bouncing as the dogs paw at the ground, throwing their heads back, a baying mob waiting to be released.
Tears prickle my eyes. I’m scared. Terrified! I find myself wishing that Lars hadn’t left, that he was still here with me. At least he would have made this seem like fun. He would have made me think it was safe.
‘When I say go, you stand here and release the brake!’ Björn says briskly, and I look down to where he’s pointing. ‘If you want to turn left, you call haw, and right is gee.’ He looks at my frozen face. ‘Keep your weight forward, and on corners go with the movement. But pretty much your team will follow mine. Just stay behind me and you’ll be fine. The dogs will obey my commands.’
I nod, trying to remember, haw and gee. And the brake!
‘Just take it steady. I don’t want anything happening to my dogs – or my herd.’ He nods towards the circling reindeer, a sea of antlers ahead of me. ‘This isn’t some holiday adventure,’ he adds seriously. ‘There are real dangers out there.’ I notice him rest his hand on what looks very much like a gun, strapped on top of the luggage. A gun, for God’s sake!
As if reading my thoughts, he speaks over the howling of dogs. ‘Just listen to me and you’ll be fine. We need to keep the herd together and away from the road. And whatever happens, if you fall, or tip your sled . . . do not let go of it. You understand? Only if you are faced with certain death do you let go of your team. Oh, and definitely no screaming. It scares the dogs.’
I try to nod. Understood. Certain death. No screaming. I glance in the direction of the road. Oh Lars, what I wouldn’t give to see your friendly, smiling face right now!
‘Okay.’ Björn points to the back of the sled and I move into position. He looks me up and down. ‘Haven’t you got any better clothing? I have spares . . .’
‘No, I’m fine,’ I say. I think of the pants and sweatshirt and, thankfully, spare pair of thermals I bought at the airport and hope they’re going to last me. I just want to get there as soon as possible. There’s no way I want to be stuck out here longer than I have to be.
‘Well, take these at least.’ He passes me a pair of thick mittens and I slip them on over my thermal gloves. My hands feel like they’re crying in thankful relief. ‘Pull your scarf away from your face. The moisture will give you frostbite,’ he instructs. I go to argue – it’s freezing without it around my face – but stop myself. ‘When I give you the nod, release the brake and immediately step on the sled. Like I say, just do as I tell you, and you – and my dogs – will be fine.’
Brake. Immediately, I repeat to myself, my heart thundering, my palms, despite the cold, sweating.
I see him do a final check over himself. He pulls out a small knife from a pocket on his sleeve and I catch my breath. What if he’s some kind of madman? I don’t even know him! Then all of a sudden, he whistles a command to the collie dogs, who leave the herd and jump onto the sled. The herd suddenly surges forward.
‘Ready?’ he shouts over the barking dogs.
No! I think, but I nod firmly. I’m really not ready, but there’s no way I can go back to the hotel and just wait. I can’t do nothing. I have to keep moving. And I have to stay with this Björn: he is the only person who knows where my bag is, and frankly, he holds my job, my future, my life in his hands.
I can’t remember what I’m supposed to do with the brake. I’m terrified of falling off. I’m terrified of dogs. I’m terrified of everything that might lie ahead. My throat is tight with fear and no sound comes out.
‘Then let’s go!’ he says, and turns away from me.
‘Hike, hike!’ He releases his brake and his dogs leap forward.
I look down at my own brake and focus everything I have on it as if my life depends on it, because quite frankly, that’s how it feels. I pull it up in one swift movement and the sled leaps forward to follow the other. I quickly grab the handle, wobbling and nearly missing it, but manage to right myself and hang on for dear life as we set off into the white wilderness.
What am I doing here? I ask myself as my sled lurches across the snowy tundra. What on earth have I let myself in for? My heart is in my mouth, and I send up a silent prayer to whoever may be listening: just get me to the other end, and to my bag, in one piece!