Go wild with huskies
Humphrey Hawksley sees a lifelong dream come true in snowy Norway
Since childhood, I have had a fascination for borders – the more remote, strange and romantic, the better. And for years, I have wanted to speed across an expanse of snow on a sled drawn by a team of Alaskan huskies.
When work took me far into the Arctic, I discovered a small company, Birk Husky, that runs sledding trips through rivers and forests along the border between Russia and Norway.
On the way, I stopped off in Oslo to catch up with a colleague, the Arctic explorer and thriller writer Odd Harald Hauge.
A strapping figure who has climbed Everest and who once owned the most northerly bar in the world, Odd explained how huskies worked together – the lead dogs did the thinking, and the tractor dogs did all the heavy pulling.
‘One other thing,’ he added. ‘Turn the ringtone on your mobile phone to its highest volume. Then, if it falls in the snow, we can find it.’
The closest airport, Kirkenes, would be called a one-horse town in a western movie: a small church, a police station and the Thon Hotel hug a tranquil, white waterfront.
Birk Husky is based an hour’s drive south of Kirkenes, close to the Pasvik River, and it straddles a country road: a guesthouse and offices occupy one side, kennels and equipment are based on the other. As we arrived, the dogs jumped up on to the roofs of their kennels and howled, knowing that some were about to be chosen for a long sled run.
Kit Hardy, a musher from Suffolk, England, harnessed one up. ‘Hold him between your legs,’ he instructed. ‘Bring your heels together and you have him secured.’ He twisted a yellow and red harness into a loop and slipped it over the dog’s head and neck.
The dog was called Roald, named after Roald Amundsen, the famous Norwegian explorer who was the first man to reach the South Pole.
Across the road, owner Trine Beddari was organising the day from a small office with huge maps on the wall and a room like a clothing boutique. I dressed in an undervest, boots, a one-piece cold-weather suit and some wolf-skin gloves.
Kit harnessed eight dogs to our birch sled. We stacked a parcel of logs and food on the back and I sat on reindeer skins draped inside.
As soon as Kit stepped toward the driver’s perch, Roald strained to go. Another dog yelped and jumped in the air. Kit took his foot off the brake. We sped away, on to a flat, glistening vastness of white. The dogs ran at full pace, at ease with their task. This is what they were born and trained to do. Soon we were in a rhythm, as the icy breeze licked our face. We curved toward a copse and dipped sharply down a riverbank, shifting seamlessly from snow-covered land to snow-covered river ice, sledding between trees and under little wooden bridges.
Kit found a sheltered spot where we dug a small hole and built a log fire to grill salmon and veg for lunch. Then it was my turn to drive. There was a hard footbrake for a quick stop and a less powerful one to slow the sled gently. This was used particularly on downhill runs when the sled often ended up going faster than the dogs. My wolf-skin gloves gripped the handrail and soon I was in the swing of things, shifting my weight from one side to the other as the trail curved back and forth. We were going at a lick, with a huge sense of openness, freedom and nature, the pine trees of Russia to our right.
Exhilarated, I stupidly I took out my phone to take a selfie, just as Roald saw something on the trail and veered us to the left. My weight was all wrong – the sled tilted and we capsized into a deep, soft drift.
Kit and I roared with laughter while Roald wagged his tail because he had seen it all before. It then took some moments to realise that I didn’t have my phone. There was no sign of it.
But this was Norway. Even in the remotest wilds there’s a good signal, and I had remembered Odd Harald Hauge’s advice.
‘Ring it please,’ I asked Kit. The phone was buried without a trace but then we heard a faint ringtone. I carefully dug down, plucked it out, brushed it dry and it was fine. l A Birk Husky (birkhusky.no) daytrip costs 3,100 kroner (€307). A twonight visit costs 6,800 kroner (€673), which could include a night in a wilderness cabin with log fires. Norwegian Airlines (norwegian.com) offers flights from Oslo to Kirkenes.
WE CAPSIZED, FALLING INTO THE DEEP, SOFT DRIFT