He’s holding out snow shoes to me.
‘You want me to walk across a frozen lake,’ I repeat. And still he seems to find this amusing.
‘You only have to worry if the ice has melted a bit,’ he says.
‘Melted?’
‘It will freeze again. It’s all fine,’ he says as if this is an everyday occurrence, and I think out here it is. ‘Look, you can stay here if you prefer. I’ll go and lay the nets.’
‘Do lots of people come and lay nets out here?’ I try and gauge how normal an activity this is as I put on the snow shoes.
‘Only the Sami are allowed to lay nets under the water.’ He pulls a big orange corkscrew off his sled. ‘Others can just drop a line and fish. We will leave the nets down there for a few hours while we take the reindeer on to our next stop, then I’ll come back for the fish.’ He smiles, the sort of smile that says he’s buzzing. He loves being out here, catching and cooking his food.
‘And you’re going out there now?’
‘Yes, how else do you think we can lay these?’ he says as he gathers nets from his sled, and, if I’m not mistaken, picks up a gun in a case and straps it across himself, checking his lasso is firmly in place too. ‘What are you planning to eat tonight? Chinese takeaway? I’m not sure they deliver out this far!’ he teases me.
I look out at the expanse of white.
‘That’s the ice road,’ he tells me, pointing at poles stuck in the snow. ‘We’ll take the reindeer that way later.’
‘Couldn’t we just have more mushroom soup for supper? I’m really not that hungry.’
‘You will be. We still have another couple of hours to go. You’re no good to me or the reindeer if you can’t pull your weight because you’re exhausted. You have to feed yourself as well as the animals.’
He starts to walk across the soft, powdery snow, holding two poles. The dogs, seeing him go, suddenly start to bark, chilling my already frozen body. There’s no way I can stay here on my own.
‘Björn! Wait!’ If he’s going out on that lake, it must be safe, mustn’t it? He’s been doing this his whole life, I keep telling myself. He turns, and with my heart in my mouth, I follow.
We set out across the frozen lake, and all the time I’m thinking, oh my God! This is a frozen lake! The ice could crack, we could be swallowed up by dark, freezing water at any time! But the reality is that it doesn’t feel any different from the snow we came over this morning through the forest.
Björn doesn’t seem to share my concerns. In fact, he looks positively content. He stops suddenly and I’m so busy looking down, I nearly career into the back of him. He glances around and then at me.
‘You know, you are going to miss a lot of life if you never look up and see what’s around you,’ he says.
It’s all right for him, he thinks this is all perfectly safe, but it can’t be, can it? We’re walking on ice, frozen water, and beneath it . . . I shudder. Keeping your eyes on where you’re going rather than just standing and looking around is a much better approach to life in my opinion. That way you can watch out for the pitfalls.
‘Here will be fine. We will lay nets in four holes,’ he instructs. He takes the huge corkscrew from off his shoulder and dumps it in the snow with a thud, and again I panic that we’re going to go crashing through into the freezing depths below us. Oblivious, or just ignoring my concerns, he carries on matter-of-factly. ‘First we clear the snow.’ He uses a shovel to dig down, revealing the thick, glassy ice beneath. ‘Now we make the hole,’ and he begins turning the corkscrew into the ice, grinning, showing his white teeth and high cheekbones above his thick beard with the reddish streaks, like highlights being picked out in the bright winter daylight.
He twists and twists the corkscrew through the ice, and I take a step back, just in case it cracks. Then he pulls it out and asks me to hand him the nets, which I do, reaching out as far as I can so as not to have to stand right next to the hole. It makes sense, right? He feeds the net into the hole and secures it with a stick in the snow.
‘So we know where it is!’ he announces proudly. ‘And now the next.’ He straightens up, picks up his shovel and giant screw and marches away whistling.
I follow. It’s much windier out here than in the protected forest. I pull my hat over my ears, then look at Björn’s and wish I had one like it.
‘And then we’ll do one over there, and one over there.’ He points. ‘In a square, so we remember where they are!’ He smiles and nods. I’m clinging to the edges of my hat. Maybe if I do something, like the log-splitting, I’ll warm up a bit.
‘Here, Björn, let me!’ I nod to the shovel, peeling an arm from around myself and holding it out to him, shivering. He nods back approvingly and passes the shovel across. I want to show him I’m not as useless as I was yesterday, when I lost the dogs. Once I’ve finished digging the hole in the snow, he nods again and hands me the giant corkscrew. By the time I’ve screwed it in, my muscles are aching but at least I’m warmer. Then, like before, he feeds in the net and puts in a stick to remind us where it is.
We’re just walking to our third hole, me using the shovel as a walking stick, when there’s a shout behind us. We turn and see two men waving to us, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s not a friendly wave. Some forms of communication are just universal. They’re on a snowmobile and are scooting towards us at speed. They too have a shovel and a giant corkscrew, and a gun across the handlebars by the looks of it. Björn stops and turns to them, sighing as he does so.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask. ‘Have we done something wrong? Is this their land?’
‘In Sweden, everyone has a right to roam,’ he tells me. ‘You can go almost anywhere in the countryside as long as you do not disturb, and do not destroy. They even put the whole country up on Airbnb because you can camp out in most places.’ But his smile slips as the men call to get his attention again, and I don’t think they look happy as they pull up, get off the snowmobile and march towards us, one carrying the gun.
Björn stands and waits for them. They seem to be asking him who he is and what he’s doing, pointing at the nets. He pulls himself up to his full height of over six foot and lifts his chin, and the men, both much shorter than him, take a step back. He is clearly not about to be intimidated.
The men seem to be questioning him again. Björn looks at the nets and then slowly turns back to the men and looks at them hard. I can feel myself shrinking on their behalf. One of them goes to speak again, stepping forward and pointing to the huskies at the edge of the lake. The other man puts his hand on the heel of his gun, slung over his shoulder, as if expecting trouble. I look between Björn and the two men and suddenly wonder how serious this is going to get. I’m out here on a frozen lake, with no phone and only a shovel for protection. And if I’m not very much mistaken, this is turning ugly.