Lean in, check. Steer? I was too busy trying not to fall off

“You’ve got to steer, babe! Lean in, lean in!”

“I am!” I was leaning so far I was almost executing a side plank. “THE OTHER WAY!!!” As we narrowly missed a bank of forest firs, I focused on leaning the other way – and on not hitting a tree.

It was the right decision. This was literally the ride of our lives, and it had taken several years, a lot of saving and no small amount of Father Christmas-related subterfuge to get here. My own dreams of bringing the kids to Lapland were fuelled even further two years ago when Amelie, now eight, and Charley, now five, developed an obsession with huskies. To say the husky mushing has been hyped is an understatement.

The day started at dawn (not as bad as it sounds, it’s around 10am) at the tour operator’s HQ, when we were asked to remove all of the swanky new snow gear I’d excitedly bought for the trip and put on standard issue winter wear. Once I had got over the fact that Charley would now be meeting huskies without his new husky-adorned coat, hat and gloves, it was actually quite fun. (I opted to keep on my £200 ski mittens, borrowed from my best friend, which I then left in the coach to the husky farm – thank goodness for guides with spares).

After that drama, mastering the snowmobiles en route to the husky farm seemed very straightforward, especially since this was my husband’s turn to drive, which meant I got to gape, awestruck, at the passing landscape. The snowy wilderness instantly encapsulated us in a state of isolated bliss, despite the fact we were on an organised tour. A convoy of just four vehicles driving along marked trails – the guide in front pulling the blanket-wrapped children in a sleigh – it felt like we were in our own witchless Narnia.

Pit stops to play around in waistdeep snow, the like of which none of us had ever seen or touched, was the powder puff icing on the cake.

And then we came upon the huskies. A mesmerising array of beautiful, wilful dogs, all intent on the job in hand – getting out into the wilderness with their mates. Despite their semi-domesticated existence, their raw, nervous energy, their other-worldly translucent eyes and their baying calls, they were 100 per cent wild pack animal. We even started a howl-off (copyright Zootropolis 2016). After a five-minute safety briefing and driving instructions (reader, I may have been distracted by a reindeer), we were assigned a sleigh and a team of dogs.

From the moment the dogs set off, it was pure magic. I had imagined how it might be almost to fly through the forest powered by these beautiful beasts – but I could never have conjured up the sense of connection of simply holding their harnesses. The timeless wonder of dashing along forest tracks, with only the excited yelps of the dogs and the yells of the children to break up the swooshing of the sleighs across the snowy pathways.

And, once I had mastered leaning INTO the direction of travel to steer, not AWAY from it as every instinct in me said I should, we motored happily along the forest paths, rather than veering directly into its vastness.

Back at the farm, there was time for hot bilberry juice and cookies in a log cabin round an open fire and stories from one of the pro husky mushers. The children, again, were rapt – until they discovered puppies outside… Daisy and Lily entranced us for a good half an hour, until the heartbreak happened: the tour was over and we had to return to our snowmobiles. (At least, I whispered in consolation to Amelie, we won’t have to hear Daddy’s “yellow snow, no go” joke again.)

But the magic wasn’t over yet – rather than simply retrace our steps, the guide chose an alternative return route – and although it was only just after 2pm, with twilight descending and headlights on, the forest took on a whole new personality.

Unfortunately, I didn’t – and leaned the wrong way into one of the last corners. Old habits…