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Lapland:
The Case for Global Warming
Author: Lee Ridley - 2001
I would say nobody warned me about how cold it was going to be.
Only they did. It's just that they didn't do a good job of describing
it and, now that I've been there and experienced it, I can see why.
The cold we're used to in the UK is wet and penetrating. It's miserable
and uncomfortable. Thirty-five below in the arctic is altogether
different. It's almost delicate but at the same time deadly serious.
I found the inside of my nostrils froze every time I breathed in.
If I breathed too deeply it would send me into a coughing fit. I'd
spent time north of the Arctic Circle twice before, but not during
the polar winter, the period when the sun does not rise above the
horizon. The sun had set on the 12th of December and was not due
to rise again until the 31st. Even so, it did get light in the morning
around 9am as the sun hovered out of sight below the horizon and
it turned dark again by 12:30pm.
Pete and I were met at
the airport by Tom Frode Johansen, our Norwegian dog sledding guide.
We were the only people on this trip as not surprisingly the depths
of winter isn't a popular time for tourists. That suited me just
fine.
The time was 1pm and
Tom Frode had been going for about 22 hours. He'd set out from his
village close to Tromsö at 3am and driven some 400kms; 200
by truck and 200 by dogsled. I asked him if he knew what the temperature
was. He said, "it's cold."
We drove to Kenth Fjellborg's
dog kennels in Poikijärvi, a small village of wooden houses
on a hill overlooking the River Torne, where we met Kenth and his
wife Annie. A bowl of hot soup awaited us and then it was time to
strip down and sort out the clothing. First on went the cotton thermal
trousers and vest, followed by silk thermal socks. Then came the
canvas trousers, t-shirt, sweatshirt and fleece jacket. Thick wool
socks inside fleece lined boots and then the one-piece fleece-lined
waterproof/windproof survival suit. Finally on went the fleece balaclava
inside fur-lined hood, and silk thermal gloves inside thick wool
gloves inside waterproof/windproof mitts. I didn't feel very mobile.
In fact to do the simplest of tasks I would generally need to disrobe
a fair few items just to make it possible. Taking a shit was anything
but straightforward!
Learning to harness the
dogs didn't take any time at all and before long we were scooting
down through a pine forest towards the riverbank using head-torches
to light the way ahead. My team comprised four dogs: Gordon and
Sirt Nus (pretty nose) leading, with Fanny and Brutus providing
the muscle at the rear.
Down at the river it
was several degrees colder and the importance of the many layers
of clothing was all too evident. The River Torne is almost half
a mile wide and it took us a few minutes to get across to Jukkasjärvi,
the site of the world famous Ice Hotel. But we didn't stop and just
ran up the low riverbank across the main road and into the virgin
pine forest that marks the frontier of the Arctic wilderness. The
night sky was clear, the moon full and the stars abundant. The time
was 3pm.
It took us about an hour
and a half to reach Väkäräjärvi, skirting around
the shores of a large lake, before finally arriving at the small
cluster of huts and kennels amongst the tall pine trees by the lakeside.
Ice hooks were anchored so that the dogs couldn't keep running and,
one by one, they were unharnessed and each chained to a kennel.
Only once this was done did we enter our hut and set to getting
the solid fuel burner going. The hut was deceptively large, with
a well-equipped kitchen, a dining area and two dorms, each with
eight bunks. Lighting was battery powered.
My primary objective
whilst in these parts was to photograph, if possible, the Aurora
Borealis, depending on if we had a good show or not. I'd come equipped
with a Nikon F80 35mm SLR and a 28mm-105mm D type Nikkor zoom lens.
Film ranged from Fujichrome Sensia 100 to regular Fujifilm 800.
There are a number of problems with using camera equipment at these
temperatures. Batteries fail after very little use, so I'd brought
a dozen with me just in case. Also, when you take a camera into
a warm cabin after using it in sub-zero temperatures, there is a
tendency for condensation to form on the film surface. This could
potentially ruin your pictures and so is best avoided by securely
wrapping the camera in an airtight plastic bag before entering the
cabin. It's a rather unscientific process and I had my doubts that
it was doing any good. But I didn't have any affected pictures so
I guess it worked.
Something I hadn't taken
into consideration was the moon phase at the time of my visit. By
chance the moon was at its fullest for the few days I was there
and this meant there would be little chance of getting a really
good display of the Northern Lights, as the sky was pretty much
bleached out by moonlight. However the moonlight did provide for
some great long exposure shots of the landscapes. Incidentally,
holding a cable release for up to 60secs for these long exposure
shots requires having to take off your gloves. One minute without
gloves in 40 below can get pretty uncomfortable and my advice is
definitely put your gloves back on before you handle your aluminium
tripod!
It was my last night
north of the Arctic Circle and I hadn't seen anything like a light
show yet. The time must have been around 11pm and Pete had already
turned in for the night, as we were to be leaving for the airport
about 7am the next morning. I decided to make the most of my remaining
time and went for a stroll out onto the lake. As I gazed skyward,
a green hazy streak began to develop from one horizon to the next.
It wasn't particularly vivid and probably wouldn't have even been
picked up on film. Nevertheless I ran back to the cabin and woke
Pete up to let him know he was missing his last chance to see the
lights. He was outside in next to no time and we enjoyed what we
thought was a fairly OK show. I'd seen the lights before in Greenland
and these were much the same. Eventually they faded and I decided
enough was enough and it really was time to turn in for the night.
I hadn't even taken off my boots before Pete was screaming for me
to get myself back outside. The lights had reappeared and this time
it was like someone had thrown a bucket of luminous green paint
across the heavens and it was dripping downwards. The moon was full
and bright but this display was drowning even the moon out and casting
its own shadow. After a couple of minutes I pulled myself together
and ran back inside to get the camera. By the time I'd brought it
out and fixed it onto the tripod, the lights had almost entirely
faded. Just my luck!
The following day was
the 31st of December and as we made our way back along the frozen
River Torne, we stopped for me to rattle off a few more shots of
the landscape. The temperature that morning was between 35 and 40
below and, as I unwittingly moved further and further away from
my sledge where I'd taken my gloves off so I could operate the camera,
the pain in my fingers began and rapidly became excruciating. By
the time I'd run back to the salvation of my mitts, I could barely
hold them to put them on. As it turned out I didn't do myself any
lasting damage but I must have been seconds away from a bit of frost
nip. Another lesson learned.
We were back in Stockholm
by lunchtime, preparing for New Year's Eve celebrations. The fireworks
display was impressive, but not as impressive as the display we'd
seen the previous night. I heard a few days later that the temperature
in Stockholm that night had been around -24. It felt quite mild
to me.
Author: Lee Ridley
Email: editor@fourcornersexplorer.co.uk
http://www.fourcornersexplorer.co.uk
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