Kiruna, Day 2 - Morning

      I was starting to get a hang of getting dressed. The first time it took me the better part of a half-hour and now I was down to under 20 minutes. I forgot the deodorant though, which meant I had to do it twice this morning. I was usually the first of the three out the door, but my ego bruised when I met Nico and Jörn outside shuffling their feet and making apologies on my behalf to the Swedish man in blue overalls and matching hat. He was supposed to pick us up at 10:00. My wrist said 9:55. “…damn Swedes,” I began, “I mean,” raising my voice for the next part, “I’m sorry, I had to lock up.” A quick looking over of the three of us and we were led to the idling VW. “Two upfront. One in the back.” My index finger of my ungloved hand went automatically to my nose. I turned, grinned at the other contestants and was met with quizzical looks. Even though I had explained this process to them at least twice each, the Europeans were slow to catch on. The last person who touches his nose had to take the least pleasant option. This holds true in many circumstances, not just for getting “shotgun,” another concept that I was alone in following. “Nevermind,” I said and opened the sliding door to the van, intent on martyrdom. There were five people looking at me and probably wondering why I was pointing at my face. I wasn’t expecting anybody, you see. In the back seat was a father and two cookie-cutter blonde kids about five and seven. In the middle seat, with the one available seat for me were two girls, about our age, who wind-chimed “Hallo!” then “Hej!” This further added to my embarrassment.
      The morning sparkled. The sun was unobstructed by clouds and the sky was blue. After spending the winter in Stockholm I found myself squinting southward and thinking, “Oh yeah, that’s what it looks like.” It added to my excitement. We were driven down the E10 to a home with an entire pack of sled-dogs caged separately behind it. They were howling madly by the time we got out of the van. They must have enjoyed the weather too. The place was also busy with people. Getting out of another van and taking a ludicrous amount of pictures were two graying couples with French accents.
      We were led into the “gear room” and amidst giggles and grunts began recreating ourselves in the tiny wooden shed. An overall here, a helmet here. Where are the liners to these mittens? Will I need to switch boots? So on and so forth. I found a particularly good hat, one that looked exactly like Genghis Kahn’s and an olive drab flight suit. Perfect. Outside, sweaty and nearly exhausted from the ordeal I introduced myself. The girls were speaking French with the old couples and that settled the question of their origin. The blond trio, from Denmark, was visiting ‘mom’ who was working as a doctor this winter in Kiruna.
      Handshakes and hello’s were interrupted because the employees drafted us to grab a dog and lead it up the hill. I thought that it would be like leading a man to the electric chair. Rousted from sleeping in, and then dragged out of the warm doghouse into the ½ meter of snow, I imagined the dogs would be less-than-enthused. My life-long experience with the ever-lazy and always timid Great Danes led me to believe all dogs were inherently slothenly. Not the case. They dragged us up the hill and would have probably tied themselves to the sled if they had only the opposable thumb to do it. I felt less guilty then, knowing it wasn’t just this evolutionary divide that kept me from the pulling end of the machine. At the top was a wooden sled that resembled a tree fort I had built at age 12. The construction was sound, but the rusty nails and reindeer skins that covered it spread doubt. Before I had time to arrange my myriad of mittens and hats we were seated and speeding away.
      This was fast. Way fast. As fast as a dog can run, perhaps faster because they weren’t simply following the lead dogs, they were racing each other. Six pairs of dogs tore us through a frozen forest. The dogsled is organized with lead dog(s) in the front. The next row are the swing dogs. They are more-or-less to help the whole bunch follow the lead. If just the lead turned, the rest would probably assume they were headed off to the woods for a piss. At the very back are the wheel dogs who physically turn the sled. The rest, called the team dogs do the hard labor. The whole process is really quite complex, more so than the four-strokes in the snowmobiles that took off earlier. To add to the difficulty, the dogs often fight as evidence from their scared snouts. Constant attention is required, especially at rest, when the dogs want to run the most.
      I had the fortune, as a result of my self-imposed back seat ride earlier, of being in the front of the sled. Jörn was sandwiched warmly between me and Nico, whose back was to the driver, the same man from earlier. The Swedish man, who still hasn’t introduced himself called out commands to the dogs. The dogs are controlled by this set of words only, no reigns or shock collars, or cracking whips. After plunging over some serious dips, causing the weighted sled to become airborne a few times, we hit the frozen lakes. After about ten minutes I began to freeze. My exposed face took the brunt of it. I noticed ice in the corners of my eyes too. That was quite painful. I heard a long string of vocal commands. It was really complex. Not just the simple “Gee” (right) or “Haw” (left) from earlier. I imagined something like, “okay, ten more meters forward, and then after the fallen tree, make a swooping left. Once past the bridge, take the hairpin right easy. How’s the family by-the-way, that canine kibble alright last night?” It turned out he was just on the phone with the other sled team. It was about this time that I tried to extract my camera.
      After about a half-hour’s ride we parked at a tee-pee. Colorful snowmobiles were parked out front as well. Coffee and cakes were served. I took in the sunlight and the scenery as the second sled pulled up. We all huddled close to the fire, and dusted the ice from ourselves and the dogs.
     Now, here is a detailed description of every layer of winter clothing. If you aren't feeling a little warm by the end of this, you aren't human.

Top:
    polyester/titanium weave base layer
    polartech fleece 3mm
    dual layer polartech/nylon-lined jacket (4-5mm)
    2-layer down pocketed/weathershell ski jacket
Legs:
    silk-weight capilene base layer
    polartech fleece 3mm
    single layer snowboarding pants
Feet:
    2 pairs of wool socks
    gore-tex snow boots.
Hands:
    neoprene/polyester glove liners
    snowboarding gloves
    wool mitten liners (over gloves)
    weatherproof burlap mittens
Head:
    wool beanie
    polyester scarf
    helmet with 2cm neoprene padding and plexiglas windscreen

overalls, down pocketed and weatherproof that were provided by the sled company

      After warming up as best we could, it was time to change fuel sources. Kibbles and bits took off with the Danish family and the French. That left us with four steaming snowmobiles. They are easy to drive, but it takes some getting used to. Snowmobiles tend to feel skittish, even at slow speeds, but they are stable enough to hit about 80 kph without getting any speed wobbles. They are terribly noisy and give off a choking cloud of exhaust—much like the dogs. We took the shorter route home, which took us around a ridge, offering a bold view over the landscape. As the road turned towards town, we saw the ironworks and the mountain straight ahead.
      Somehow the dogs beat us back. They must have had lunch on their minds. Heading towards the changing room, I had trouble walking from a solid morning of excitement. Nico and I exchanged some high-fives and some caveman noises that most males make when they combine gasoline fumes and testosterone. On the way to the changing room I caught the eyes of my middle-seat companions. We exchanged a sideways glance and a smile that is usually preceded by an inside joke. I didn’t have to say, “That was the most awesome thing I have ever done.” She didn’t have to say, “Yeah, me too.”

"high" noon


Nico, no. 24 and no. 37

"This is gonna be awesome!"


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