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When we awoke for the third day of our dog sledding adventure, it seemed that today the weather would be with us. The wind had dropped, and as the skies slowly cleared the mighty forms of the surrounding hills peeped tantalisingly through the dispersing cloud. As I made my way through the drifts on my morning trip to the outhouse, ptarmigans chattered excitedly from the scattered trees. The dogs, bathed in the ice-blue light of early morning, looked up expectantly and shook off their nightime carpet of snow. As one, they let loose a volley of mournful howling, like a gaggle of tone-deaf X-Factor hopefuls launching into a chorus of “The Greatest Love”, which echoed back from the mountaintops until the whole valley rang with their lament.
Back inside the cabin, the morning routines were once more underway, snow melting on the stove, the rustle of sleeping bags being packed away and the zing of zippers. Spurred on by the thought that we would soon be back on the trail in command of our dogsled teams, we set about the ritual of feeding, watering and poo clearing with enthusiasm, and before long were sitting down to our own breakfast of steaming porridge and hot coffee.
When Tommy came in with the day’s weather report, forecasting decreasing winds and good visibility, the excitement was palpable – our goal for the day was Helags, a well-equipped but very remote mountain station deeper into the reserve, with its holy grail of hot showers and sauna.
After their day of inactivity, the dogs were in an even more frenzied state than usual as we harnessed them to the sleds. We chose our anchor spots carefully, as with the dogs so excited it seemed that even the sturdy-looking picnic benches might be unable to hold them back. Blood was up for both canines and humans as we released the ropes and flew forward. We careered along a short downhill section before turning into a wide valley, soon leaving the cabins far behind us as the dogs warmed up and moved into top gear. We streaked along as the views opened up around us and we were able to get a good impression of the lie of the land for the first time since our arrival at Vålåstugan. Previously concealed by the clouds, the remoteness of the area now revealed itself to us in its full glory – a wide, white horizon stretching unbroken in all directions.
Exhilarated to be back on the sleds once more and awed by our surroundings, we pressed on towards the distant peaks. The dogs were doing most of the work, but even huskies need a helping hand sometimes, and on the steeper uphill stretches we “scooted” along with one foot to help the sled forward or took both feet off and ran behind in short, sweaty, breathless bursts. But as one of our group discovered, this needs to be done with care: stepping off the runners takes a lot of the weight off the sled, and suddenly released from the extra burden, the dogs will surge forward – and you have to keep up! As Jackie stepped off, the dogs and her sled accelerated. No doubt remembering Tommy’s words of wisdom at the start, (“Don’t let go!”), she hung on gamely like a cowboy in a comedy western, half running, half skidding, kicking up great clouds of powder in her wake. And her iron determination paid off, as 50m or so later she jumped triumphantly back onto the runners to cheers of encouragement.
Stiff from our efforts and flushed with adrenalin, we stopped half way for lunch at the emergency shelter at Ljungans. Far in the distance we spotted another dogsled team racing towards us in a flurry of snow, and Tommy called to us to stand fast on the anchors as our excited teams spotted it too and launched into another round of manic barking and howling. It was a dramatic sight – 17 dogs harnessed to one sled, which was almost literally flying. As the team raced past, the musher standing heroic and god-like like Thor on his chariot, our first thought was, “Wow! That’s cool!” Our second thought was, “Blimey. That’s a lot of poo for one guy to clear up!”
This astonishing übersled and its larger-than-life musher disappeared rapidly into the distance and we lesser mortals retreated into the shelter of the small cabin to warm our hands around cups of hot coffee while Tommy and Lena checked the dogs.
The second half of the day’s route was steeper and physically harder than anything so far, and we were glad of the sustenance from our simple lunch as we battled with our sleds uphill for the next 10km or so. But, tiring as it was, it was a thrilling experience, surrounded by smooth, white hills with light wisps of powder creating hypnotic ripples along the surface of the snow.
Travelling uphill on a dogsled in a padded scooter overall is hot work, and there was no chance to feel the cold until the very last few minutes of our trip as we glided down into the wind towards the welcoming haven of Helags. As the station came into view, we passed a summery-looking sign almost buried in the snow, incongruously promising “Tea and muffins” for sale just ahead.
With improved weather conditions, the dogs looked instantly more content as we clipped them to their long lines and got to work building their shelters. Although high winds were not forecast, Helags lies in an open, exposed area, and we needed to make sure that the dogs had adequate protection for the night. There was even a little more enthusiasm for the food rations, though it still took considerable cajoling from Lena to get some of the dogs to eat. Patiently she crouched by each dog, hand-feeding them little chunks of meat and cooing encouragingly. The dogs clearly loved the human contact, and I’m sure I didn’t imagine the smug glint in their eyes as they each revelled in their few minutes of extra attention.
Having marvelled at the radiators and electric lights (and, wonder of wonders, a drying room!) as if we hadn’t seen such things for months, it was time to get down to the serious business of trying out the sauna – located rather devilishly in the furthest building away from our cabin. Wading off to the sauna through deep snow clad in full arctic gear and clutching a pair of swimming trunks was a surreal experience, but we all agreed it was going to be nice to strip off after days shrink-wrapped in thermal underwear. We separated off into the men’s and women’s changing rooms, peeled off our various layers and stepped through into the sauna room. There were little squeals of embarrassment and cries of “Oh gosh, excuse me” and “I’m terribly sorry” as we realised it was mixed sex and, true to traditional English form, we scampered back to fetch our towels…
An hour or so later, feeling very lobsterish and gloriously relaxed, we gathered for dinner. With the extra space and cooking facilities, Tommy had surpassed himself, serving up a delicious creamy pasta dish which was devoured with gusto. After some brief after-dinner conversation, the day’s adventures combined with the afterglow of the sauna seemed to catch up with all of us simultaneously, and in a flurry of yawning and stretching, suddenly we were all in bed and fast asleep.
Best regards
The Nature Travels Team
The article above describes the third day of the Dogsled Adventure in Jämtland tour in February 2008. You can read the first part of the dog sledding diary here, or see our website for our full range of dog sledding holidays in Sweden.
We fell asleep to the lullaby of the wind battering the sides of the cabin. Waking at intervals during the night, stirred by a particularly strong gust or by room-mates gearing up for a midnight expedition to the loo, it became clear that the storm had no intention of abating any time soon.
But despite the dramatic weather just beyond the walls and windows, the warmth and cosiness of the cabin and the softness of our beds made for fine conditions for a sound night’s sleep, and our party awoke refreshed and in good spirits at around 7.30 the following morning. One by one we emerged from the bedrooms, clad in a varying selection of long johns, fleeces and woolly socks, and began pottering around, lighting the fire, heating water for the dogs, and sleepily rubbing the steam from the windows to check that the storm was indeed still raging at full strength.
Having coaxed the fire into a healthy blaze, one of our party checked his thermos to see if the snow he had spooned in the night before had turned to drinking water as intended. At the time, this had seemed a good idea to all of us, but as sheepish inspection of the thermos revealed that it still contained nothing but hard-packed snow, memories of long-forgotten school Physics lessons came flooding back to us and we realised as one that snow in a thermos is not likely to melt in a hurry…
While we had been luxuriating in the muggy comfort of the cabin, the dogs of course had spent the night outside, sheltered only by our faltering attempts at snow walls and the limited windbreak provided by the cabin. Concerned for their well-being, we donned hats and overalls and forced open the front door, to be greeted by a wall of wind which all but swept us off our feet and sent us skidding across the icy steps.
But we needn’t have worried about the dogs. They were variously sitting up quietly watching the spindrift swirl around them or curled up half-buried and snoring contentedly in their depressions in the snow. As we passed along the lines, ruffling ears and brushing off the ice caked onto their fur, the dogs looked up at us as if to say, “Storm? What storm?”
Back inside, the pans of snow were melting nicely and it was time to give the dogs their breakfast. We felt sure that after the long cold night, the dogs would show more interest in this morning’s offering than they had at dinner the night before, and so we dutifully mixed up the food and distributed bowls among our charges – bowls which once again were sniffily ignored or deliberately tipped over, covering the pristine snow with large splodges of murky brown. The second course of frozen meat was a little more popular this time, though, and we took great care to leave the dogs in peace to concentrate on the food as they picked gingerly at the chunks.
The wind had been blowing hard all night, and despite our efforts to position the sleds to minimise snowdrifts, four had been almost completely buried. As other members of the party began the essential duty of collecting dog waste with a shovel and bin bag (44 dogs produce an astonishing amount of poo, even when they haven’t eaten!), three of us set about the business of digging out the sleds and dragging them up to higher ground.
We began as three macho adventurers, energy levels running high after our long sleep, heaving great hunks of snow out of the way and digging furiously. We uncovered the bulk of the first sled and began rocking it free, heaving in unison for all we were worth, red-faced and eyes popping. But the sled stubbornly refused to budge. This went on for perhaps five minutes until our strength had all but deserted us and we collapsed panting in the snow, puzzled by our lack of progress. And then it dawned on us – buried beneath another metre of snow just to the side of the sled was, of course, the anchor, quietly doing its job of holding the sled firmly in place. Feeling somewhat chastened that we had led with our brawn rather than our brains, we picked up the shovels once more and before long had our first sled free and parked safely on higher ground.
About an hour later, our various duties had been completed and we were safely back in the cabin interior, working our way through a hearty breakfast of porridge and sandwiches washed down with copious cups of tea and coffee. It was time to assess the situation and see where, if anywhere, we would be going that day.
Given the notoriously changeable mountain climate, weather forecasts too far ahead are largely meaningless, and information is given on a day-by-day basis. As we finished the last of our breakfast, we waited anxiously for Tommy to return with news of the day’s weather report that the wardens would receive by radio.
The forecast, when it came, was not good. Strong winds of 50mph or more continuing throughout the day. Our planned route was to Helags, 24km away, perched high up in the wide and unsheltered mountain plains. This was no day to be setting off on such a journey. Though of course disappointed not to be off dog sledding, we were at the same time all in agreement that in such weather it would be both uncomfortable and unwise to try to make Helags. And the situation was not without its compensations – a quiet, cosy day lay ahead of us, with our time completely our own. The impotence imposed on us by the force of the weather was oddly liberating, and a day of enforced relaxation held a strange attraction.
And so the day went on, measured not so much in hours as in teabags and the pages of books, and punctuated by periodic checks on the dogs, still huddling in their rows against the horizontal snow.
Lena’s mother both impressed and shamed us all, as she announced after lunch that she was going to borrow some skis and go off for a “little tour”. To a mixed reaction of admiration and incredulity, she set off into the blizzard while the rest of us watched her departure from the warmth of the cabin. “Don’t worry”, said Lena, “she’s an experienced skier, and besides that she’s completely mad.” And sure enough, as dusk approached, a lone silhouette appeared once more though the howling storm and she breezed in, exclaiming what a wonderful bracing afternoon she’d had and what a lovely day we’d all missed out on.
Time passed surprisingly quickly, and as bedtime approached once more we all agreed that, though the day had lacked the thrills of a day’s dog sledding out on the trail, to be caught in such a storm was nevertheless a real part of the mountain experience. It had not only been a graphic reminder of that old cliché, the power of nature, but also a great opportunity to get to know each other and compare stories. We had started the day as a group of fellow travellers, but were ending it as friends.
Just as we were turning in for the night, Tommy appeared with the latest weather information. The forecast was looking decidedly better for the morning, with the winds expected to drop steadily through the night. It was welcome news – our day caught in the storm had been a real experience, but we were keen to be back in command of our dog sledding teams and heading up into the hills – and we went to bed eager for the adventures the morning light would bring…
Best regards
The Nature Travels Team
The article above describes the second day of the Dogsled Adventure in Jämtland tour in February 2008 – a 7-day experience with 5 days’ dog sledding in the Vålådalen Nature Reserve. Look out for the next instalment, as we watch the skies clear, harness the dogs and strike out for the remote station of Helags, 24km further on into the mountain wilderness. You can read the first part of our account of the dog sledding expedition here.
One of the great advantages of working at Nature Travels is the regular opportunity to combine business with pleasure on visits to our local partner companies in Sweden. On this occasion I was heading for the tiny village of Undersåker in Jämtland to visit Tommy, a local dogsled guide in the area in and around the Vålådalen Nature Reserve who has been running dog sledding tours in the region for more than 20 years.
This was the first time that I had had the opportunity to take part in the full 5-day expedition Dogsled Adventure in Jämtland tour, and I was looking forward to the experience immensely. The adventure had already begun some weeks before the start of the trip, with a look through the pre-departure packing list and a number of shopping expeditions to hunt for missing essentials. Like many outdoor enthusiasts, I have something of a weakness for new gear and gizmos, and I was delighted to have a good excuse to update a few tired old pieces of kit and splash out on one or two things I’d been hankering after for some time. Along the way, I found some real bargains, including a terrific pair of Gore-Tex ski pants from the PDSA charity shop for £15 (which satisfied the demands of both my limited budget and eco-consumer conscience) and a great value alternative to the Buff multi-functional headwear. I’d had my eye on one of these for quite a while (and the discovery of a Windstopper version had sent me into paroxysms of avaricious yearning), but I just couldn’t bring myself to spend 19 quid on what was basically a stretchy scarf. I was delighted, then, when I found that Oswald Bailey do a version made by Trespass for half the price.
Laid out on the living room floor, my assembled packing seemed to take up a frightening amount of space – always the problem when planning for a winter trip – but with judicious planning accompanied by a great deal of groaning, swearing and jumping up and down, everything was finally shoe-horned into my long-suffering rucksack and ready for the off.
It was with a mix of excited anticipation and gnawing guilt that I abandoned my wife at an obscenely early hour on Valentine’s Day at Poole bus station to catch the National Express to Stansted. Not the most convenient airport for those of us on the south coast, Stansted is nevertheless currently the only airport in the UK offering a direct low-cost flight to Trondheim in Norway, from where it is only just over 2 hours across the border to Sweden by train to the start of the Dogsled Adventure in Jämtland tour.
Back in my youth, on my regular comings and goings between Edinburgh and the South West, I used to watch in open-mouthed amazement as National Express drivers berated passengers mercilessly, shouting in the ears of little old ladies, cursing blank-faced foreign tourists for their lack of comprehension. In the intervening years, I have watched these surly fellows be gradually replaced by a new generation of polite, soft-spoken, well-dressed driving professionals – marvellously efficient, but sadly less entertaining. I was both shocked and oddly nostalgic, then, when our driver turned out to be a die-hard member of the old guard, calling a young French passenger an “ignorant git”, warning us to fasten our seatbelts and hang on because “for those that understand English, I’m a s*** driver”, and sending a pair of young Asian girls scurrying off in panic with their enormous suitcases bouncing crazily behind them by joking to the waiting queue, “Anyone for Manchester?”
The rest of the journey was smooth and far less eventful, and after a restful night in Tommy’s guest cabin, I watched as he and Lena, our other guide for the tour, loaded 44 eager and insanely excited Alaskan Huskies into the truck. This was my first sight of the dogs that were to be our friends, companions and means of propulsion for the next five days. There is no doubt about it – Alaskan Huskies love to run, and they are superbly designed for the purpose. They came in a wide range of shapes, sizes and colours, some heavy-set with thick, shaggy coats, others lean and wiry, some with eyes of piercing blue, others a deep chocolate brown, but all with an athlete’s physique and faces alive with energy, intelligence and friendliness.
With the whole truck practically humming with collective excitement (how much coming from the dogs and how much from me it’s hard to say), we headed 40km up the snowy track towards Vålådalen tourist station, the start point for our dog sledding adventure. We left the dogs for a while to rendezvous with the guests, who were already gathered expectantly in reception. Of the six other participants in the experience, four were Nature Travels clients from the UK, and we were also joined by two young French guests who had been dog sledding in Canada before and were keen to try the Swedish version.
We began with a brief look at the map to see the likely route we would be taking during our dog sledding adventure, with our first objective being the cabins at Vålåstugan. From there to Helags, with its promise of showers and sauna (some of the guests got rather excited at the mention of the “s” words), where we would be staying for two nights, leaving our luggage at the station and running fast and light on a day-tour through the surrounding mountains. Our last stop would be the cabins at Gåsen, before the long downhill stretch back to Vålådalen.
With the basic tour description completed, Tommy went on to outline what to expect during a typical day’s dog sledding. “Ah – adventure, excitement, swooshing through endless white expanses of untouched wilderness, the wind in your hair and the cry of the dogs in your ears,” we thought. “Poo patrol”, said Tommy gravely, bringing us back down to earth with a bump, “and every night we must dig shelters for the dogs before we have dinner”. Ah well, we were sure there would be a bit of time for adventure and swooshing in there somewhere.
With the introductions over, we made our way down to the truck to collect our equipment and meet the dogs. It was remarkably mild for the time of year, just around freezing and snowing gently, and the mood was jovial as everyone changed into their winter boots and tried snowmobile overalls on for size, with frequent jibes about James Bond films and Nanook of the North as we appraised the dashing figures each of us cut in our new Arctic garb.
Then it was time to get down to business. By now the dogs had been unloaded from the truck and were standing patiently waiting to be harnessed. We huddled around one of the sleds as Tommy took us through the basics of handling the dog sled and harnessing the dogs. In particular we were given some important safety information, shown how to use the anchor and where to hang it safely out of harm’s way, and how to brake the sled when going downhill. Good braking is vital, both to prevent a spill and so that the sled does not overtake and injure the dogs. “Keep tension in the lines at all times”, said Tommy, “…and don’t let go!” he added with a wry smile. By this time the dogs had begun to sense what was going to happen next and the noise level was rising, and we strained to catch Tommy’s final words of wisdom before fanning out to find our own sleds.
We were each given a card with the names of our dogs, and with Tommy and Lena’s help in identifying our charges, we set about the business of harnessing them according to the positions on the card. Huskies have strong individual personalities and, like people, different strengths and abilities. Some dogs like to lead and think, others to follow and pull, and the teams had been chosen carefully to ensure that each dog was in its proper place. First the lead dogs are harnessed, with a “Dead Man’s Hand” staked out in front to keep the team straight and prevent tangles. The technique for harnessing is very simple, and though I still managed a twist or two and needed a friendly word of advice from Lena, before long all the teams were in place.
While quiet and remarkably well-behaved when at rest, when harnessed up and waiting for the off, the dogs go absolutely berserk, straining against the anchored sleds and producing a deafening cacophony of barking, howling and whining. This moment of anticipation before the anchors were released and we surged forward was to be one of the most enduring images of the whole dog sledding experience for me, an intensely uplifting sensation that sent my heart racing and blood pounding. You cannot help but be swept along in the wave of primal energy and longing that is produced by 44 four-legged pulling machines in full cry, and those few seconds as we waited for the signal to release the brakes held a magical quality for me, when the modern world seemed a distant memory and life was filled with infinite possibility.
As we upped anchors and took our feet off the brakes, our teams leapt forward as one and the sleds took off in a whirl of flying fur and snow. The track dipped sharply downwards almost immediately and we stabbed in alarm at the brakes, but apart from one minor spill we all negotiated this first obstacle successfully and were on our way – masters and mistresses of our very own dogsled team! Somewhat overawed by the whole thing at first, over the next few kilometres I really felt I was getting the hang of it, and hands that had been desperately holding on to the sled for dear life just a few minutes before soon lay relaxed and nonchalant, guiding the sled smoothly and confidently through the twists and turns of the track as we headed upwards through the birch forest.
I began to feel elated, proud of my new-found skills and my rapid mastery of dog sledding technique. As my dogs pulled for all they were worth I had time to take in some of the beauty and silence of the forest, and turned my head to catch a suggestion of the majestic shapes of the surrounding mountains looming through the low cloud. But pride comes, of course, before a fall, and a few seconds later the world went suddenly and completely white as I pitched head-first into a deep snowdrift and disappeared in a puff of powder. I emerged to see my sled on its side and disappearing into the distance, pulled forward at a slower but still impressive pace by the unrelenting power of my dogs. Two legs are considerably less efficient than four when it comes to running in snow, especially when they are attached to a slightly paunchy 37-year-old body and encased in a thick set of padded overalls, and it took me what seemed like an eternity before I caught up with my sled, panting, sweating, and with little stars bursting in front of my eyes. Even with the added encumbrance of the sled on its side, my dedicated team of canine pullers had seemed to have no problem charging up the hill and putting an impressive distance between us, even before I had had time to struggle to my feet and set off in pursuit, with my cries of “Stop!! For God’s sake stop!!” falling on eight deaf, or perhaps just indifferent, ears.
“Still, I’ve learned my lesson”, I thought, as I clambered awkwardly aboard and set off once more, vowing not to get so distracted by the tempting beauty around me again. Indeed, that was to be my only fall of the whole trip, and by the end of the tour five days later I would have good reason to be justifiably proud of my new skills of balance and control, but for now I was content just to stay on my feet and count myself lucky that I was nursing nothing worse than a bruised ego.
Much of the Vålådalen Nature Reserve through which we were travelling has a restriction on snowmobiles, which makes it possible to enjoy the tranquility of this lovely area undisturbed. Though we were not scheduled to enter the restricted area until the following day, when we would be penetrating deeper and higher into the reserve, we neither saw nor heard a single scooter during our trip up to Vålåstugan, our only fellow travellers a hardy-looking group of ski tourers out on a winter camping expedition. As we raced ever upwards, the dogs pulled tirelessly, taking occasional bites of snow from the track and even going to the loo on the move.
When finally we stopped for a short break, the air was alive with exclamations of “Wow!”, “That was amazing!”, “This is beautiful!” and occasionally “Ooh my aching legs!”, and the sun made a welcome appearance through the clouds as we surveyed the ascent we had made and the lie of the land behind us, sipping coffee from our thermoses and attacking the proffered sandwiches as if we hadn’t eaten for days. The dogs took the opportunity to roll in the snow to cool down or lie panting, tongues lolling with great clouds of breath hanging in the crisp air.
Just the sound of a thermos top being screwed back on or the rasp of a sled pocket zip closing seemed to be enough to signal to the dogs that we would be setting off again shortly, and once more the teams erupted in a frenzy of yelps and barks. A few kilometres later, we rounded the corner to see the welcoming low huddle of buildings at Vålåstugan winking at us through the afternoon sunshine. Almost immediately, our thoughts turned to cosy fireside chats, the crackle and spit of dinner cooking on the stove, and the evening of cheerful camaraderie that lay ahead.
But it would be a while before we settled down to enjoy such creature comforts – for now, the dogs came first and their needs must be attended to before we ourselves could be fed and watered. As we waited in turn to park our sleds, the wind picked up noticeably behind us and the clouds rolled in, obscuring our view of the mountains, driving snow down our collars and chilling our faces, giving us a taste of the approaching weather front that we had stayed just ahead of all afternoon.
While we were to be spending the night wrapped up cosy and warm in the mountain cabins, the dogs would be sleeping outside, and it was important that adequate preparations be made to shelter them from the worst of the weather. First of all, static lines were drawn between stakes and the dogs clipped on at intervals of a couple of metres, each section of line with its own individual piece of cable to allow the dogs ample room to move around.
Once the dogs had been unharnessed and clipped on to their static lines, we moved the sleds together and faced them downwind to prevent them being lost in snowdrifts overnight (a very real problem – Tommy told us later that he has spent hours searching for sleds buried completely in the snow after a storm!). Then it was time for our first taste of snow-shelter digging, which was to be come an essential part of the dog sledding experience and a major part of our dog-care duties over the coming days. By this time the wind had really picked up, and for the next hour or so we struggled with our snow shovels against horizontal snow and driving winds of up to 22mps (about 50mph) to build walls of snow sufficient to protect the dogs through the approaching night. Though the still air temperature was still very mild (around -2), wind of this strength drops the actual temperature to around -20. But with the exertion of digging the snow and packing it to make the walls there was little chance of anyone getting cold!
At the end of an exhausting but strangely rewarding hour battling the elements, we stood back to survey our handiwork. The dogs looked distinctly unimpressed with our efforts, some even jumping over the walls to lie on the windward side, their ears flapping as they turned their faces full into the wind, but we knew at least that we had done our best and that shelter would be there for those that wanted it. It seemed only right to test one of our snug-looking creations for myself, and so I curled up to try my hole out for size. It did indeed make a surprising difference to huddle down behind the wall of snow, though the prospect of a warm bed inside was a still good deal more inviting.
As we mopped our brows and congratulated ourselves on our fortitude and stamina, Tommy and Lena called us over with the cry of “Food time!”. “Excellent”, I thought, “I’m starving.” But of course they meant the dogs. They showed us what was on the canine menu for the evening – a veritable banquet of dried food mixed with water followed by a hunk of frozen meat of unknown and rather suspect-looking origin. Dutifully we held out the bowls while Tommy and Lena slopped in the food and, though it didn’t look too appetising to us, we assumed that after their exertions the dogs would be ravenous, falling upon the food like a pack of hungry, well, dogs. We were therefore astonished when most of the dogs looked at the food disdainfully before turning their backs in a huff and curling up in the snow, while others licked at it listlessly or deliberately emptied out the water by tipping the bowls over to pick the dried food off the snow.
“This is often a problem,” explained Tommy, his brow furrowed with concern. “In bad weather the dogs don’t like to eat. We really need them to drink as well, which is why they need the water from the bowls – they don’t get enough water just from eating snow.” And muttering to himself about the vagaries of the mountain climate and canine mood swings, he shuffled off to redistribute the untouched bowls to other dogs.
“Well”, we thought, “they’re bound to like the meat at least.” But no, as the hunks of frozen meat were hacked up with an axe and handed out, once again the dogs sniffed at them hautily or quickly buried them in the snow before lying down in disgust.
There was one more task to accomplish in the gathering darkness before we could retire to the warmth of the cabin. Lena produced a bag of doggy coats and we went around covering the more lightly-built dogs or those with the thinnest fur. Alaskan Huskies are incredibly hardy animals, but even a husky gets cold sometimes, and in the evening ahead Tommy and Lena were to make regular excursions out into the storm to check on the welfare of the dogs, even bringing one or two inside occasionally to warm up.
At long last, our duties were completed and we retired to the steaming interior of the cabin. Thanks to the efforts of the warden, who had been anticipating our arrival, the fire had been lit many hours before and the cabin was a roasting 23 degrees. We stripped off our many layers and suspended our icy hats and gloves above the fire before flopping gratefully down around the table to bask in the unexpected warmth.
The evening passed in a haze of gentle conversation and laughter, punctuated every hour or so by one or other of us deciding they could hold out no longer and it was time to get togged up for an expedition to the toilet. And an expedition it was – the wind was unrelenting and it took all our strength just to open the door to the cabin. We were propelled by the wind at our backs across a carpet of snow to the toilet block, where even the thick doors and solid Swedish construction could not prevent icy drafts whistling into the most private places. When we opened the door to brave the trip back, the cabin was just a hazy outline barely visible through the driving snow, and though a distance of just 30m or so, it was not hard to imagine yourself as an intrepid Arctic explorer struggling valiantly back to base across the frozen wastes.
Dinner, when it was finally time for us to eat, was well worth the wait, and before long our bellies had been filled to bursting with a hearty meal of reindeer meat and mashed potatoes. This was the first of many tasty meals that Tommy was to prepare for us over the coming days – perhaps it was the mountain setting and expedition ambience, the drama of the howling storm outside, or just our ravenous hunger after the day’s adventures, but we all agreed that mashed potato had never tasted so good.
By the time 9pm rolled around (though it felt like midnight at least), all of us were yawning and looking longingly towards our beds. As I slipped into my sleeping sheet, pulled over the duvet and lay back to listen to the wind still racing around the corners of the cabin, a jumble of impressions and thoughts swirled through my head – the myriad sights, sounds, and powerful emotions of my first day dog sledding in the mountains of Jämtland.
Look out for the next instalment, as we go in search of buried sleds and watch the skies anxiously for signs of sunshine…
Best regards
The Nature Travels Team
The article above describes the first day of this February’s Dogsled Adventure in Jämtland, a 7-day adventure holiday with 5 days’ dog sledding in the mountain wilderness of western Sweden. We have limited spaces still remaining for some of our dog sledding tours in Sweden in March and April 2008. Please contact us for details or see our full range of dog sledding holidays in Sweden at www.naturetravels.co.uk/category-dog-sledding.htm.
As an ecotourism company, we hope that you will choose to take trains and buses whenever possible as you travel around Sweden. However, cars do offer a degree of independence and allow access to certain areas hard to reach by public transport. If you do decide to drive in Sweden, there are some things that you should be aware of, for the sake of safety, ease of travel, and the environment, and we have tried to present some of the most important information in this collection of FAQs. If you have never driven in the snow before, or would like information on other aspects of driving in Sweden, you should find many of the answers below…
Which side of the road should I drive on?
Until 1967, traffic in Sweden drove on the left, as we do in the UK. Then, at 04.50 in the morning on September 3rd, traffic all across the country was directed over to the right side of the road and stopped still for 10 minutes before setting off again at 05.00, this time driving on the right, where it has remained ever since. It is hard to imagine how such a logistical operation could have been accomplished on British roads, even in 1967!
Are roads in Sweden busy?
Swedish roads generally haves far less traffic than the UK, and in many areas it is possible to drive for hours without meeting another vehicle. Outside major cities, traffic jams and queues are very rare, though you are likely to experience delays in Stockholm during peak hours.
Are the roads in good condition?
Roads in Sweden are generally very well-maintained. Rural roads may have some bumps and pits, especially in winter, and forest roads in more remote areas are likely to be unsurfaced (known as “Grusvägar”).
What special requirements are there?
Motorways are toll-free. You must drive with your headlights on at all times. If you hire a car in Sweden, headlights will be switched on as standard. You must also carry a warning triangle in the car, which you should place 50-100m behind your vehicle if stopped on a road. Again, this will be standard equipment in a hire car.
What about parking in Sweden?
Parking regulations are generally clear and easy to follow. In cities you will usually need to pay for parking, either at an on-street meter or ticket machine, between 8am and 6pm. If parking on the street, keep to the right side only (don’t park against the flow of traffic). There are a number of lay-bys for parking on main roads (see also our article on the Swedish Right of Public Access for regulations on overnight parking).
What is the speed limit in Sweden?
Don’t forget that speeds and distances in Sweden are measured in kilometres (1 mile=1.6km). Swedes will often talk of distances in terms of “mil” or “Swedish miles”: 1 mil=10km, so if a Swede tells you it is “10 miles to Gothenburg”, they mean 100km!
On motorways (roads marked with blue signs), the limit is 110kph/68mph. Main roads are marked with green signs and usually named with E plus a number (e.g. E14 for “Europaväg 14”). Speed limit here is 90kph/56mph. In towns the speed limit is 50kph/31mph. Other speed restrictions are clearly marked.
Does Sweden have speed cameras?
Yes. Presence of speed cameras in an area is usually clearly marked by signs. They look a little like a cross between a traffic light and a Dalek! The level of the fine is dependent on the amount by which you exceed the speed limit, and for serious offences your driving license may be withdrawn.
Is there a danger of animals on the road?
Driving in Sweden is an excellent way to encounter wildlife, and during your travels you may be lucky enough to spot moose, reindeer, deer, hares, red squirrels and perhaps some of the rarer animals. However, many Swedish roads travel through densely forested areas and animals on the road are a hazard to be taken seriously in order to prevent casualties among both the animal and human population. There are around 4500 accidents involving vehicles and moose alone each year in Sweden, resulting in 10-15 human fatalities.
Major roads will often have fencing to prevent animals crossing, though there will be periodic breaks to allow animals to cross. Danger points are clearly marked, but you should be aware of animals on the road at all times. If you wound an animal and it wanders off into the forest, mark the spot where it entered the forest with a ribbon or by some other means and call the police. The police will then attempt to track down the animal to put it out of its misery. It is not a criminal offence to hit an animal.
What about drinking and driving in Sweden?
Sweden has some of the strictest regulations relating to driving and alcohol consumption of any European country. The legal blood alcohol limit is currently 0.02, compared to 0.08 in the UK. Police have the right to demand a blood sample and failing a test will result in imprisonment.
Do I have to wear a seatbelt in Sweden?
Yes. Seatbelts are compulsory both front and rear. Children under 7 must have an approved seat, and it is illegal to use a backwards-facing child seat in cars with an airbag on the passenger side.
How old do I need to be to drive in Sweden?
The minimum age for driving is 18.
Do I need to carry documents with me?
It is a good idea to carry your driving licence, registration documentation, passport and insurance certificate with you when driving.
What are some useful Swedish words to know for motorists?
Parkering Förbjuden – No Parking
Infart – Entrance
Avfart – Exit
Bensin – Petrol
Sjukhus – Hospital
Omläggning – Diversion
Gäller Ej… – Doesn’t apply to…
What is the number for emergency services in Sweden?
Dial 112 for Police/Fire/Ambulance Service.
What do I need to know to drive in winter in Sweden?
If you have not driven in snow before, it can be quite daunting initially, especially for those who have experienced icy conditions on UK roads. But don’t worry – winter tyres make an enormous difference and even smaller roads are regularly ploughed. Provided you follow some simple guidelines you should be able to drive confidently and safely.
- While of course helpful in extreme conditions, it is not necessary to have a 4WD vehicle if you are planning to drive on normal roads in Sweden.
- Cars with front-wheel-drive will handle better in snowy conditions than those with rear-wheel-drive.
- ABS can be a useful feature to assist safe braking in snowy conditions.
- Your vehicle must be fitted with winter tyres (not necessarily studded, though studded tyres will give better grip) to drive in Sweden during the winter. If travelling to Sweden during the winter, it is probably best to hire a vehicle rather than take your own. Hire cars will come fully outfitted for winter conditions.
- When driving on snow and especially on ice, you should allow much greater stopping distance. Be especially carefully when doing downhill or approaching curves. The “slipperiness” of the road will vary considerably depending on the temperature and surface conditions, so be aware that a snow-covered road that seemed easy to drive one day may be much icier the next.
- Ice often forms on bridges, so take extra care when driving over them.
- When driving on remote roads with little traffic, you may find it helpful to drive in the middle of the road, as you will have more room to maneuver and correct any slides if forced to brake suddenly. When going over hills and dips and around corners, you may meet traffic coming from the other direction, so slow down and keep to the right.
- If the road is very slippery and you feel that it is difficult to keep control, drive as slowly as possible in the lowest gear. If the car begins to slide when going downhill, change down gear, use the engine to brake and go as slowly as you can.
- You will have most control when steering if you put the clutch in and steer without either accelerating or braking. Gentle movements of the steering wheel and low speeds will give you the most control under snowy and icy conditions. Better a foot on the clutch than a foot on the brake!
- Finally, use your judgement when assessing conditions. A white winter road with packed snow will often be less slippery than a wet road. Drive safely, but don’t be nervous!
Best regards
The Nature Travels Team
Nature Travels offers a wide range of outdoor experiences in Sweden, all of which are accessible by public transport. Cars can be useful to access some of our experiences and to give you greater freedom during your stay – see for example our Summer Fun on a Forest Farm and Log Cabin Escape in Värmland experiences. If hiring a car in Sweden, you may wish to consider one of the flexifuel cars available from Hertz. There are currently over 70,000 flexifuel cars on the roads in Sweden and alternative fuels are widely available in many areas.
