After a night on the bottom bunk, lying on top of a reindeer rug in a thick sleeping bag that Björn has given me, listening to the snores of a strange man on the bunk above, the sounds of the reindeer moving around outside and the occasional barks and bays from the dogs, I feel like I’ve been hit with a shovel.
And then I smell something I wasn’t expecting . . . coffee.
I sit up stiffly. Björn is outside, feeding the dogs by the looks of it in the still-dark morning, the silvery moon throwing long fingers of light across the snow, which appears to have had another gentle layer added to it overnight, like filo pastry, thin layers on top of each other to make a thick, soft casing hiding what lies within. I can’t put it off any longer. I’m going to have to go and use the bathroom, so to speak!
I’m just pulling on my thick leggings over a clean pair of souvenir shop knickers when Björn comes in with his usual blast of cold air and goes straight to the stove. I whip them up quickly, blushing, hoping he didn’t get a glimpse of my nylon-clad bottom.
‘How’s Helgá?’ I ask, worried that she might still be traumatised by yesterday’s accident.
He nods. ‘She’s fine. I’ll put her back in the pack today, in between a couple of other bitches.’
‘Oh good,’ I say, pulling on the too-long waterproofs and rolling them up at the bottom, practically suffocating in my scarf, which I’ve already wound around my neck to stop the draughts, before venturing outside to find a nearby tree.
I wasn’t quite as prepared as I thought. Squatting in the dark, with many layers of clothing, to piddle in the snow is definitely an art form I have no desire to perfect.
On my return, Björn hands me a mug. ‘Here,’ he says, looking at my shocked face, and I swear once again there’s a hint of a smile or maybe a smirk at the corner of his mouth. I want to say that it isn’t funny, and actually, it’s easy for him just peeing against a tree, but he should try getting out of waterproofs, leggings and cheap pants whilst hundreds of reindeer eyes stare at you, but he stops me before I start. ‘Let’s eat and then we’ll set off. And don’t worry about the dogs, I have a different form of transport for you today,’ and that smile is still there. He holds out a plate to me. This time there’s a flatbread with mushrooms, and one with jam, possibly the same lingonberry jam as last night, as well as hot, strong coffee.
‘This is delicious,’ I find myself saying.
He stops eating briefly to say, ‘It’s all from the forest. If you know what you’re looking for, well, like I say, the forest is where we Sami people survive. It is our friend. We collect the food in season and store it for when we need it, like now.’
We pack away the sleeping bags and the plates, cups and pots into the plastic boxes and Björn secures them on the sled then teaches me how to chop wood so that we can leave fresh kindling and logs by the fire.
I am determined not to let him think I’m a complete city dweller. I stare at the log. ‘Good, and again!’ he instructs. I pull back the axe, feeling the ache in my arms from yesterday, but swing anyway.
‘Where do you want these?’ I ask, holding an armful of logs and puffing a little, my head torch lighting up the cabin as I stand in the doorway.
‘By the fire, for next time,’ he says. But as he gazes around the cabin, I wonder when next time will be. It’s as if he’s giving the place one last look, saying goodbye with a certain amount of melancholy. Standing aside, he lets me out, then pulls the door shut firmly and puts the key back under the log. And there, outside, beside the dogs, stands my new form of transport.
‘This is Rocky. He’ll look after you very well He’s a castrated male. His job is to pull a sled. Slow and steady. You bring up the rear. I will run the dogs and keep the herd together. You keep the stragglers moving forward.’
I stare at the big reindeer harnessed up to a wooden sled, then take a step towards his head and pat him tentatively. ‘Hello, Rocky!’
He turns to look at me and lowers his antlers in my direction. I take a step back. They are so long!
Björn laughs. ‘You have to make friends with your reindeer, bond with him, work as a team.’
‘Bond,’ I repeat. Rocky is looking at me as if we are never even going to be acquaintances, let alone bond and become lifelong friends.
‘So, you hold this orange rope here.’ Björn hands it to me. ‘It’s attached to the halter around his neck. You can use your voice, like with the dogs, to get him moving on.’
I take the rope and Rocky gives me another derisory look. Björn smiles.
‘We’ll keep to the forest path rather than going out on the tundra. It may take longer but I think it’s safer. We’ll stop when we get to the frozen lake. Catch some fish for supper.’
The reindeer are milling around in amongst the trees looking for lichen and once again, I can still hear the clicking. ‘What is that noise? That clicking?’ I ask.
‘It’s the reindeer’s ankle joints. It’s a form of communication. So when there’s a storm, a whiteout, for example, they can hear each other and stay as a herd.’
‘Safety in numbers, eh?’ I smile. ‘Just how I like things too.’ I find myself attempting conversation.
‘Not converted to the great outdoors then?’ he laughs.
‘No, I’m still more of a city girl . . . but then you’ve probably guessed that.’
‘Here.’ He holds something out to me, his head torch casting rays around the dogs and reindeer.
‘What’s this?
‘A walkie-talkie. In case we need to be in touch.’
I take it and put it in my pocket, thinking how much my nephews would love these.
‘Okay?’ asks Björn, doing a final check of the sled. ‘Ready?’ The dogs are barking and jumping as he moves to stand, tall and proud, behind them. I have no idea how he can control such a big pack. I couldn’t even manage four, but then he looks like he’s been doing this all his life.
‘You keep the reindeer moving forward from behind,’ he repeats. ‘It’ll slow us down a bit, but it’s better that we get there in one piece.’ He looks at me with his ice-blue eyes and I catch my breath as he pulls on his fur-trimmed hat, tugging the ear flaps down firmly. ‘We have a Sami expression that says, “However the journey starts, so it will continue!” I’m hoping to prove that theory wrong!’ He slaps his hands together. ‘So let’s get moving, and take it steady this time!’
The dogs start their usual baying and barking in anticipation of the trip ahead, and the sled swoops forward and past me, much to Rocky’s chagrin.