I am faced by a yard full of excited
huskies. In fact, the word ‘excited’ doesn’t really do justice to their state
of near-frenzied anticipation.
The venue is Svalbard, Norway’s Arctic
archipelago that is around a 600-mile flight north of the city of Tromsø at a
line of latitude of 78°North, and I am about to try my hand at dog-sledding
through the polar winter.
It is just before 4pm and it is dark. In
fact, it has been dark all day. Around midday the sky flirted with a slightly
bluer shade of black, but I don’t think I would have even noticed if it hadn’t
been pointed out to me.
Here, adventure travel specialist Basecamp
Spitsbergen has a dogsledding camp, poetically called Trappers’ Lodge, where
intrepid visitors can learn the rudiments of the art and, if they so desire,
embark on sledge-borne expeditions of several days’ duration.
My time is somewhat shorter than that, but
I am still going to be spending several hours out in the wilderness with six
huskies for company.
I must earn that right, however, by first
harnessing the dogs to my sledge. There is an expert on hand to assist if
necessary, but the idea is that I show the huskies who’s boss.
That’s easier said than done; the animals
are not only highly excited, they’re also extremely strong and have an uncanny
ability to wrap their retaining chains around the legs of any amateur trying to
gain the upper hand.
It’s -9°C, but in my thick survival suit
and hood I’m soon sweating as I gradually harness my six dogs. We’re fifth in a
line of six teams and I have barely time to get a grip of my sledge before we
lurch off rapidly into the darkness.
With a blast of excited barking we hurtle
through the compound’s gate and turn sharp right down a snow-swathed hill.
The slope is severe and I’m soon leaning frantically to the left to prevent the
sledge overturning.
Thankfully, we are soon at the bottom and
onto flat ground, the dogs setting a brisk pace around a frozen lake.
It is quite dark; to the left the lake is
sensed rather than seen and to the right high ground looms as a grey shadow.
The only noises are the swishing of the sledge’s runners and the panting of the
dogs. They are pulling hard and my foot keeps visiting the brake to prevent us
ramming the team in front.
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| Svalbard’s top predator observes |
Taking a tumble out here would not be
ideal, not only because separating tangled huskies can be a ticklish business,
but also because Svalbard is a place where human beings are far from being the
top predator.
That title goes to the polar bear and any
visitor here is unlikely to forget it.
By the baggage carousel at the islands’
tiny airport, a stuffed polar bear keeps a glassy eye on comings and goings and
Longyearbyen’s excellent museum is positively packed with episodes of
human-bear ‘interaction’ over the centuries – many of which didn’t end so well
for the two-legged participants in
the scenario.
the scenario.
To further emphasise the point, the road
out of Longyearbyen features a much-photographed sign depicting a padding polar
bear and the words ‘Gjelder hele Svalbard’ – ‘Valid for the whole of Svalbard’.
For this reason, our guide has a rifle on
her sledge, but she’s some distance ahead should we back-markers find ourselves
having to make an unscheduled stop.
Our journey this afternoon is a relatively
brief introduction to dogsledding, but Basecamp’s trips also set out from the
Trappers’ Lodge to other destinations, such as the remote radio station
Ijsfjord Radio and a 100-year-old schooner, known as the Ship in the Ice – both
of which provide basic but cosy accommodation.
Such trips, however, also require overnight
camping stops.
I’m told the huskies then perform another
function: both scaring off any bears and also providing early warning should
one be bold enough to approach the campsite.
This latter ability was something that was
noted by the polar explorers of days gone by, and was seen as one of the many
assets of huskies.
After an unforgettable outward-bound hour,
I am well aware of another – the dogs’ seemingly limitless energy.
Exactly 100 years ago, Europe was gripped
by the drama of the race to the South Pole as a Norwegian expedition led by
Roald Amundsen and a British team under Robert Falcon Scott sought to become
the first to stand at the South Pole.
Amundsen, using dog sleighs, made it there
and back safely; Scott and four of his companions, relying on horses, primitive
tractors and manpower, did not.
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| Amundsen and some of his best friends |
The polar regions were ultimately to prove
fatal for Amundsen, too.
Outside the research station at Ny Alesund,
100km to the north of Longyearbyen, there is both a statue of the explorer and
a tall metal mast.
In 1928, the latter was the mooring place
of the airship of Italian explorer Umberto Nobile and his crew, who intended to
use the craft to fly to the North Pole.
This they achieved, but ran into bad
weather on the return journey and were left stranded on the Arctic ice.
Amundsen was one of those dispatched to
help the survivors, but somewhere between Tromsø and Svalbard his aircraft came
down in the sea.
As my dog team turns for home, the
temperature has slipped to -12°C, nothing in polar terms, but cold enough to
make me glad of my thick suit, goggles and gloves. I am reminded of a comment
of Amundsen’s: ‘Adventure is just bad planning.’
The moon is shining down on the sledges
whirring almost silently across the snow, and I can only feel tremendous
admiration for those fearless polar explorers of 100 years ago – not to mention
these endlessly enthusiastic and energetic dogs.
The Facts
Longyearbyen, Svalbard’s main settlement,
is 593 miles from Tromsø and 1,287 miles from Oslo.
The Basecamp Group has a range of unique
properties on Svalbard.
Trapper’s Hotel in Longyearbyen is the most
luxurious of these and simulates the idea of a traditional cabin with restored
driftwood, sealskins and atmospheric lighting.
Tel: (+47) 7902 4600
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