Kittila #3 All you need are dogs

It’s insane how the light switch of Lapland simply did not work for a solid few months up here. When the light would burn, it would be for 2 to 5 hours depending on the sunny-ness of the day. But during my first days, I experienced the dark days. It was hard to wake up and it took me longer than my usual 15 minutes to wake up, much longer. Luckily the snow was a blanket of sparkling white which at least woke up my eyes, and the barking dogs woke up my ears. Basically every day looked like the following: poo-duty in the dark around 8, preparing the sleds with loyal barking mascots that are much more awake than us 4, getting dragged through the dark, preparing a fire (woodchopping wasn’t my finest talent but I’m extremely eager to learn, so the battlescar in my finger is at least proof of a cool survival lesson I learned) and then receiving our guests for the day. And they come from anywhere, for everything. Americans wanting to add Lapland to their Europe trip, Chinese wanting to experience winterwonderland, Russians wanting to go dogsledding, Australians chasing the northern lights. I always love to hear everyone’s inspiration for picking a certain destination, it helps adding to the beauty and desirability of a place, unique as it is.

As my heavy boots sunk into the snow whilst finding my way to the ready-set-go dogs, my body temperature rises from about -10 to +40. That’s what tends to happen when your legs are drowning in the snow and the dogs are pulling forward with their every muscle, and you’re the one having to pull them backwards to stop them from creating a ball of excitement so intense they could actually set off with the guest-free sleds behind them. We do not like that scenario, obviously, so all has to happen fast. And that, let me tell, is a true work-out. Now as I said before, it sometimes happens that the guests get too intimidated by all the events around them, after all husky sledding is advertised as a peaceful way of enjoying the beautiful wonderland. And nothing is more true, but it’s also an adventure. the question ‘can our kids drive too’ is then also turned down with a friendly but clear no, and sometimes the adults themselves also don’t feel like driving anymore and would prefer the peaceful ride they probably imagined. And that’s when my slowed down blood starts pumping with excitement again, because I know what it means; one of us gets to go. Of course we try to divide this equally, and the few times I got to go were like disappearing from the world for a bit. The mind was shut off and your body starts trusting on its old-school instincts again as you let the dogs guide you trough the wild and turn out to be their most valuable leader.

You feel the cold wind cutting into the naked parts of your skin that are surrendered to the extremes: -30, icy wind, the total wild. You are safe on your sled, protected by the dogs, but yet so vulnerable. If you leave the pathway, you easily disappear into a deep mass of snow. If the dogs give up, you aren’t gonna get any further unless you decide to walk the rest of the path. That would be your only option then, but not highly suggestable as the dogs run a tiny bit faster than you as an unexperienced penguin can go in the snow. Moral of the story: allow your hands to freeze to the sled and hold on. Brake when the forest throws bumps on the road, push when the hills arise. The dogs rely on you to help them and the leaders will even turn their heads into your direction as a means of asking for your support if they feel uncomfortable. Its absolutely amazing how well humans and dogs can communicate, especially when emerging into the cold wilderness where you rely on the other. Where it’s absolute quiet and still, no movement nor sound. Just the woosh of your sled barely touching the snow, as it’s more like flying, a bit like santa behind his reindeer. Sometimes this peace will be rudely interrupted as one of the dogs has to poo. Obviously you try to stop the sled but usually the poor thing cannot maintain its excitement, therefore will poo while running, and the smell of fresh poo that’s being run over makes anyone gag. But this little moment of blegh does not at all disturb the magic of the experience.

Because here you are, your hands may be cold and your nose may feel numb, but I promise you this world makes you warm. The snow is an untouched blanket of sparkles, the trees black still silhouettes releasing sparkles with every arctic breeze rushing by. The sky a promise of darkness rushing in soon, the forest an endless plain of secrets. You will most probably see nothing, but the forests of Finland are a safe haven to many majestic creatures that all deal with the winter in their own way: sleeping or napping + snacking. No need for them to appear those silly penguins racing trough the wild guided by a pack of wolves. As you trust these wolves to guide you safely, you will have to acrobat a bit now and then; dug for branches hanging around due to the heavy snow, lean in the curves, bend with the speed. As the dark pines open up at a certain point, a plain of sparkles appears where we make a circle to turn around. But while doing so, we have a little break for the dogs to do some snow-dining and for the guests to have their pictures taken. By us, so again my little legs disappear into the snow as I manoeuvre my way towards them and sacrifice the safe, minimal warmth gloves can provide in these temperatures to take their pictures, because I know how important that is. Every day I am there still, throwing my gloves aside to take a selfie with the dogs (takes practise and time and the making of peace with frozen hands). And then we head back home, and the dogs can feel it. They speed up even more than they do before take-off, because there’s no place like home. Adventure may be anywhere in any shape for anyone, but home is priceless.

Their wolfpaws hardly hit the snow as they race back and every nerve in your body is focussed, alive. Like electricity pulsing trough your veins, keeping your body on sharp survival-mode. The intense cold, the pure air, the magic around, the safety shield the dogs shape; it all makes you feel so present, as if nothing else in the world matters than this moment itself. And as the dogs keep speeding up with a surprisingly never-ending amount of power, we arrive home at the kennel where the dogs are untied from the sled and their harnesses are pulled of, it’s like taking of a bra after a long day (girls will know) and the dogs start curling up for a well-deserved power-nap. Meanwhile the fireplace is prepared and the hot drinks await, and we gather for some story-sharing around the fire. For whose not freezing yet I provide the tour trough the kennel to go see the doggos that didn’t get to run and are desperately embracing our comfort, and always to the 3 pups that are runners- to be and for now have to unleash their energy on; dog-loving, ‘I don’t mind if he steals my hat or drags me around by my scarve’- guests. When the guests leave usually the next round arrives, and when that circle is done it’s time for poo-digging which is totally relaxing after the rush. What satisfies me even more is scraping of the dry skin of the trees serving as perfect food for a fire, or digging away the snow in front of the kennels so the doors no longer have to be smashed in (usually the day after you may repeat this task) but the ever-lasting comeback of snow is something you’re gonna have to love, living the Lapland life. When all is done, it’s time for a well-deserved little break at the cozy Tontula café, until we burn up because of the sudden cozy warmth and start preparing the dog food, sped up by the dramatic excitement of our very much alert friends. When the feeding is done, and the darkness totally set in, our day ends around 4, and we pull back into the cabin for some cooking, showering and relaxing, and a very early aimed sleep which is interrupted mostly by my hunger for more, for green, for dance: for northern lights.

- It's an amazing life