Worth the Journey: Swedish Lapland
The wild frontiers of the world are dwindling. We are shrinking the wild through our own desire to access all four corners of it. The airlines were answering our prayers. More direct flights. More frequent flights. New destinations. New connections to old destinations. Yet in the far north of Sweden, beyond the line that indicates the Arctic Circle, is swathes of wilderness unreachable without substantial effort.
I was fortunate enough to visit Swedish Lapland one cold December on the cusp of the winter season. This far flung part of the world is on paper uninhabitable yet Inuit’s have made this their home longer than London has existed, enduring seasons more distinctive than people’s opinions on Marmite. Disappearing from a developed world, where I spent my journey to the airport face submerged in a stranger’s armpit, I emerged into an almost fantasy one where peckish reindeers blocked the road en route to the hotel only twenty minutes away. So, it was almost impossible to comprehend that it is here where the impacts of climate change were most apparent.
Lennart, my host, is stroking a tree with care. Today is the first time this winter the layer of ice over the river has been deep enough to cross country ski across, a week later than normal he noted. One hundred metres wide, we glided across ascending the banks and immediately becoming knee deep in the snow covered forest on the opposite side. Lennart explained that this tree marks where his ancestors could once call for moose. Recently, a small change in wind direction, caused by tweaks in the worlds weather systems has meant that as the sound travels so to does his smell. Consequently, this spot, this family heirloom which was past through generations as a valuable tool for survival, is now worthless. He draws my attention to the wire like moss that clings to the tree like a rash. It is not pretty, but it is keeping the tree alive. The delicacy of the moss is not unsubtle and Lennart has taken much care in how he touches it. Yet, the biggest threat to these evergreen blankets is not him but the quantity of carbon dioxide in the air. Depressingly I am informed that much like a ‘hand me down’ swaddling cloth, year on year these layers thin and wear, consequently leaving the tree more and more vulnerable to the elements.
Eating seasonally and locally is an aspirational and brag worthy concept at home. In Swedish Lapland it is not so much a concept but a way of life. By candle light over an outdoor fire that has been roaring for as long as I have been here, Lennart is frying Arctic Char. He reminisces on fishing through the high summer where the days are so long the sun does not set – copious amounts of time to farm for fish to keep him and his guests alive through winter. As the thermometer plummets to -30 he produces potatoes and lingonberries from his fuel free fridge, destined like the rivers icy blanket, to melt to nothing come the Spring. Taking only what he needs, leaving no trace.
If fresh air could be bottled as a sleeping aid, Arctic air would be the most desirable. Coupled with the all-consuming darkness that commences at 4pm, come 7pm you will be itching to retire and sleep but one thing will keep you there – the opportune promise of the Northern Lights. One of the world’s most unpredictable phenomena’s. Like an unsolved murder mystery, studies on the Northern Lights tirelessly hit dead ends. To save sciences face, people focus on their alluded powers through generationally passed down folk tales. The Vikings believe the aurora to be the breath of soldiers who had died in battle. Further afield, the Japanese presume that a child conceived under the Northern Lights will be a genius. No matter your belief, the Northern Lights are mesmerising, hypnotising and bewitching. Yet Lennart begrudgingly tells me even the aurora borealis could be lost. With the growth of artificial light from sprawling local towns and increasing numbers of planes in the sky, finding spots of absolute darkness is harder. Consequently, their shows are much less dramatic, hindered by human light pollution competing with them in the night sky.
Working in travel I frequently am, quite literally, absorbed into crowds of mass tourism. The impact of those from the selfie-stick wielders to Royal Suite occupiers is much for muchness – a tangle of positive and negative direct impacts on the local environment. In cities, it sustains family run trattorias serving pizza from dawn to dust on plastic plates and it enables qualified guides to inspire and to educate, often through single use plastic headsets. In Lapland, this mass competitive consumption of space felt a world away whilst the impacts were altogether more obvious. Here it feels more like a deep dive into what it was to live with the world. To listen to your surroundings and take what you need not what you can. To look after your patch so that she can look after you.