Finally, after a long, tense pause, Björn speaks, in a low and measured tone. I don’t understand what he’s saying. I’m not even sure it’s Swedish; in fact, I’m sure it isn’t. I hear the word Sami and then I’m sure I hear the name Nuhtte, and then I do hear it: Daniel Nuhtte. He points to the dogs and back towards the hills behind us, the direction we’ve come from over the past day and a half.
I’m listening and trying to pick out words I might understand, but none of it is making any sense to me. Instead, I turn and look at the two men and attempt to read their faces. They’re giving nothing away. I look between them and Björn and wonder what on earth is going to happen next. Their eyes narrow, but the aggression seems to be seeping away. They nod at me, questioning him. He looks at me, then back at the two men. I’m so frustrated; I have no idea what’s going on. He keeps his head held high, and continues to speak in a slow, measured voice. Suddenly he slings his arm around my shoulder and to my shock and surprise hugs me to him. I hold my breath. I can smell the woodsmoke on him from the fire.
The two men look at each other and say, ‘Ah!’ then smile widely. They reach forward and pat Björn on the back and point to the nets, and I think they’re now wishing him luck with his fishing, before bidding us farewell. Björn keeps one arm around me, only releasing me to take the fish they offer him with a smile and good-natured nods. I glance at him. This guy can obviously charm the fish out of the water . . .
The men climb back on their snowmobile and wave to us before driving off. Without a backward glance, Björn sets about digging out the next snow hole, clearly unfazed by the encounter.
‘Björn? Those men! What was that all about?’ I say, tripping over my snow shoes.
‘It’s fine. It happens. Don’t worry about it.’ He goes back to digging and I think he’s just told me to mind my own business.
‘But they had guns and everything. What did you say to them?’
He sighs, as if wondering whether to explain. ‘It happens,’ he says. ‘Like I said, only Sami people are allowed to lay nets for fishing out here.’
‘And?’ I shake my head, not understanding.
‘I don’t look Sami. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have fair skin and am a foot taller than most of the Sami people. I look like I came over on the first Viking ship.’
I blush. I have actually noticed he is very . . . Nordic-looking. Classic fair skin and steel-blue eyes that seem to terrify me as much as his lead dog’s do! I drop my gaze, suddenly unable to look at him for fear of blushing again. He blows out air, his cheeks filling like two big gobstoppers, then looks me up and down. ‘And you clearly aren’t Sami. I’m with a . . . tourist!’
I go to object, but he’s right. I still have my ‘Welcome to Stockholm’ sweatshirt on.
‘Like I say, it happens all the time. They spotted the dogs, thought I was a musher and challenged me.’
‘But you are a . . . musher, right?’ I find the word odd to say, but that is what someone who runs huskies is called.
‘My mother was a musher, before she met my father and became a teacher. A lot of the Sami don’t like the mushers. They come here for the snow, for the good terrain to run their dogs. But whatever people think, I am Sami through and through,’ he holds his hand over his heart, ‘even if the dogs and my appearance say otherwise! The Sami people are a close-knit community, helping each other out. Those men didn’t recognise me; I haven’t been around for a while. When I told them . . . Well, it was fine. They wished us good fishing.’
‘And me?’ I think about him pulling me to his chest, and find it strangely unsettling.
‘Oh, I said we were together. Engaged. It made it simpler.’
‘What?!’
‘They wished us luck and a big family!’ He laughs, and starts digging again.
We finish the fourth and final hole and then make our way back to the herd in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. I think about Björn, his life out here as a reindeer herder and what kind of a father he would make if we really were together. We’d probably have at least four children, I think, and he’d have them all out learning to mush and herd reindeer from an early age. He’d take them fishing and teach them to look after the dogs and use a lasso. I find myself smiling, then suddenly, as though I’ve been punched, I remember Griff and the family at home and feel a wave of guilt wash over me. My cheeks are no longer freezing, but burning with shame instead.
The dogs greet Björn and I rejoin Rocky, who looks at me warily but at least doesn’t try and swing his antlers at me as I untie him, which could be considered progress. We set off again, this time moving the herd out onto the frozen lake, and even though we’ve just come from there and nothing bad happened, my heart is still in my mouth. What if the extra weight of three hundred reindeer causes a crack? Who knows where the danger might be; we could easily step in the wrong place. This ice road clearly doesn’t come with a map. I like a map. I like to know where I’m going.
The sled sways as we move across the lake, but despite my fears, I feel much more in control. Rocky seems to be getting used to me; the lichen must have helped in some way. And much as I would like to be moving faster, I’ve accepted that I’m just going to have to take this journey one leg at a time. Slower but safer, and we should still make it.
Finally we reach the other side of the lake and move back onto uneven ground, the sled bumping and lurching.
‘We’ll keep going for a bit,’ Björn calls out to me, ‘whilst we have the light.’
‘What about the fish?’ I nod back in the direction of the lake as we start up an uneven incline.
‘I’ll go back for it when we get to our next stop!’ he calls. ‘Over this hill and then on to the forest. We’ll stay there the night. Switch on your head torch when it gets darker!’ The light is turning to early-evening dusk, and I realise it hasn’t snowed all day . . . so far.
As we reach the brow of the hill, the sky seems to open up and show itself to me. A huge expanse of different blues, dark navy through to light, soft grey, with wisps of clouds like silhouettes against the big blanket before me and a tiny line of yellow spreading out into orange along the horizon from the sun that never came up and has already disappeared for the day. Björn turns and smiles at me, acknowledging my appreciation of this beautiful sight. Then before we know it, the streak of yellow and orange has disappeared and the sky has turned a dark inky blue, like someone’s tipped over the ink pot. The moon comes up, white and bright, throwing out an eerie blue iridescent light across the snowy path towards the trees down the other side of the incline, and there are some tiny dots of stars across the sky, like someone’s thrown a handful of glitter on a thick velvet scarf.
Together we switch on our head torches, lighting up the furry behinds in front of us, and head down the hill. It’s much faster than I’m expecting, but this time I hold on tight and find myself smiling as we go, and actually enjoying the ride. I can’t wait to see the cabin. I’m exhausted but also feeling a little elated from that downhill run. I sniff. It’s getting colder as night falls. The hairs up my nose freeze and tickle. I can’t wait for the warmth of my sleeping bag and bed. I don’t even mind if it’s a bunk again. I know my sleep will be fitful, it always is, but just being in a comfy bed is such an inviting thought.
‘Not far now,’ Björn calls to me as we move into the shelter of the trees, which wrap their branches around us as if welcoming us in out of the wind. A few minutes later, he pulls up and so do I. The reindeer stop and start foraging amongst the trees. I look around for the cabin but can’t see it. There is no cabin. Björn has tied the dogs up next to what looks like a bundle of long sticks leaning against a tree.
‘Our home for tonight,’ he announces proudly. ‘Out here, each Sami leaves the poles for a lavvu against a tree for the next traveller to use.’ He takes one of the poles and lays it in the clearing.
‘Sorry, lavvu?’ I tie up Rocky and grab a handful of lichen, putting it on the ground in front of him.
‘Uh-huh.’ Björn takes another pole. ‘A traditional lavvu, in which Sami have lived for hundreds of years. We are nomads, following the herd. When the herd choose to migrate, we follow, and we need portable accommodation.’ He stands holding a third long pole.
‘Portable accommodation?’
‘Uh-huh. A lavvu, like a tepee. A tent.’
‘A tent? We’re camping tonight?!’ And my slightly lifted spirits hit the floor once more.