"The light coming through the sleeper train window wakes me. It's nearly time. Climbing down the ladder past the other snoozing occupants, I head into the corridor. A few hours ago there were only trees, an endless unfurling ribbon of spruce and birch. Now there is snow, vast banks of it. And sometimes, when the train roars through a big drift, great spumes of white blast out on either side, blocking any view."
"In the restaurant car, I watch the map on my phone as a blue dot approaches a straight dashed line. A frozen lake and distant pale mountains appear. Then at 6.09am we cross the Arctic Circle. Forty-eight hours previously, I had been in London St Pancras station, queueing for the Eurostar. Now, five trains later, never having left terra firma, I am in the Arctic."
"Most of my fellow travellers are Swedes with hefty bags of skis and well-stocked sledges that look expedition-ready. With their weathered faces and lean muscle, they look intimidatingly capable. My plan is a mini-expedition of my own: to ski to the highest mountain hut in the Swedish Arctic, and get back down in one piece. Because I have never used the particular type of skis required for going uphill, the plan seems ambitious."
The sleeper train wakes the narrator early; after climbing down a ladder the corridor reveals a transformed landscape. Hours earlier there were endless spruce and birch; now vast banks of snow and occasional spumes obscure views when the train hits drifts. The narrator watches a map as a blue dot approaches a dashed line, and at 6.09am the train crosses the Arctic Circle. Forty-eight hours after leaving London St Pancras and five trains later, the narrator arrives in the Arctic. Fellow travellers carry expedition-ready skis and sledges. The narrator plans a mini-expedition to ski to the highest mountain hut in the Swedish Arctic, disembarking at Bjorkliden and beginning on a beginner slope within two hours.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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