Finland Wilderness Training - New Year's Day, part 1.

At 08:20 my alarm goes off and at nine o’clock I am still prone and moderately anaesthetized by the two shots of tar schnapps I had last night.  Once again I am glad of the instruction not to wash in the mornings which I am finding increasingly appealing. No washing and no make-up makes for a very easy life and when I see my reflection in the mirror over the sink in the tiny wet room I hardly recognize myself which is strangely liberating.  In fact, I look a bit like Tilda Swinton.

The husky drive isn’t until this afternoon but I start to think about what I might need and so spend a few minutes pottering around and organizing my kit.  By the time I have finished my bed is covered and so is most of the floor.  I can’t believe I will really need this many layers and so I select some to wear and stick the others in my backpack.  As I walk across camp I notice that the sky seems brighter and the view to the other side of the lake is clearer.

It’s only about 35 minutes in the minibus to where we pick up our husky teams and quite soon we turn down a narrow road which leads to a small clearing in the pine trees where the minibus stops.  There is an open sided teepee where a log fire glimmers in the fading light and the smell of mulled berry juice drifts across to us.  The teams of dogs are already tied into their harnesses which in turn are tied into the sleds which are each securely tied to a tree.  No anchor and the dogs would be off.   Right now, between runs, they are lying or sitting and generally chilling, both figuratively and literally.  But at the sight of us something seems to switch in the heads and they rise to their feet and begin to pull.  Like I said, good job they are anchored.

I am directed to my sled and told to stand on the back balancing myself one foot on each narrow runner.  My feet feel cramped in two pairs of socks and in two pairs of gloves it’s difficult to wrap my hands securely around the handle.  The husky guides begin to move down the line to their sleds at the front and the back of the convoy and the dogs,  anticipating the run, leap to their feet and bound forward straining at their tack.  Just this movement throws me off balance and I feel a foot slip from the runner.  The rope tied to the tree strains.  I am second in line and directly behind the guide.  “Put both feet on the brake” she says, “and hold-on”. The brake is a rudimentary hard plastic flap that spans the runners and attaches to a series of metal teeth which when the brake is depressed bite into the snow and slow or stop the sled.  As I put both of my feet on the brake the rope for my sled is unleashed from the tree and the dogs, yowling loudly, surge forward and head off.  If I bend at the waist and lean my weight completely over the handle and pull upwards with both hands at the same time, I can just about put enough weight on the brake to slow the team down.  I practice slowing and stopping a few times to get a sense of control and are slightly perturbed by the fact that when I do this, the dogs, still running, turn around and look at me. “What the hell are you doing” their expression clearly conveys.

We are racing down the track a few minutes later, hugged by trees so covered in snow they look like sculptures and I feel like I am in Narnia. I also wonder if I have whiplash.

See the husky photos on the gallery