Travel features | Into the heart of whiteness: Sledging about in cold Finland

Lapland, Finland. (Photo: Anita Rao Kashi)

For confirmed tropical country types, the first sight of all encompassing snow can be surreal, mesmerising and even a bit unsettling. In Northern Finland, the village of Saariselkä located in the Finnish Lapland within the Arctic Circle, is blanketed in snow and evokes this mix of emotions. It is like the world has gone monochrome with roads and pavements, houses and trees, parked and moving vehicles all shrouded in white. Even the sky is a dull grey, almost approaching whiteness. And that’s the way it is for more than half the year, sometimes even eight months.

When the initial jaw-dropping sensation fades a bit, other things begin to slide into consciousness. Such as the intense cold, with temperatures hovering around -20 degrees Celsius in February. Swathed in layers and layers of clothing, the cold is biting and pierces right to the bone through any exposed skin. And while experiencing it is in itself an adventure, it takes some getting used to.

Saariselkä, Lapland, Finland. (Photo: Anita Rao Kashi)

Saariselkä is the land of the Sámi, an indigenous people native to Lapland, also called Sápmi, spread over Northern parts of Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia. But less than 10,000 of them reside in Finnish Lapland, one of least dense areas of country. The Sámi are the sole caretakers of reindeer, a creature that has been part of my imagination as a child, and one I was eager to encounter. But for that, several more layers of clothing are required including thick snow boots, balaclava and helmet. While it might sound excessive, all of it is necessary for a long and bumpy ride on a shiny snowmobile. Soon as I climb on to it behind my Sami guide, he set off into the white wilderness that seems like a white fairyland.

As the vehicle vrooms on the snowy surface, bumping and skimming, sliding into valleys and climbing hillocks, through landscape covered with plants, bushes and trees laden with snow, the guide says it is a national park. For someone used to dense forest cover, this sparse, ashen countryside seems farthest from a national park. But it was the complete silence that is absolutely enthralling. When the guide stops the vehicle every few minutes to let the surroundings sink in, the quietness is so all encompassing that it is partly beautiful and partly frightening.

Even though everything looks bleak and deserted, there are habitations and hamlets hidden just beyond the line of sight. One such lonely little wooden cottage suddenly surfaces and is surrounded by a fenced area with a handful of reindeer, with bright red neck bands, attached to sleds. They are gorgeous creatures, with limpid eyes and a blasé look about them that is incredibly adorable. Inside, the simple wooden cottage has a central hearth which also doubles as the cooking area. I was able to get a much better sense of their culture and lifestyle at the Sami Museum Siida in Inari.

Siida Sámi Museum, Inari, Suomi, Finland. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

Northern lights in Urho Kekkonen National Park. (Photo: Daniel Born via Unsplash)

By early evening, the area around Urho Kekkonen National Park nearby is light is dull grey while the tall pine and spruce trees, covered in snow, stand like sentinels, quiet and brooding. An inclined section within is ideal for a raucous session of tobogganing. When that gets monotonous, teardrop snowshoes that look like tennis racquets are slid on and I stomp around in the forest in the soft fallen snow. It is crunchy and deceptive, and the legs sink almost to the knees in places, but a delightful adventure nevertheless. And partly comical as tripping over the wide shoes is a feat in itself.

When exhaustion hits, a toasty fire and a delicious meal of salmon, roasted vegetables and cheesecake, serves to perk up the spirits and another adventure awaits. By now the sky is completely dark, the snowy landscape reflecting a dull glow. I am back in more layers and we set out to see the northern lights (aurora borealis) but a thick cloud cover proved to be a dampener. Unfazed, the Sámi guide has an alternative.

An archival image of an indigenous Sámi family in 1900. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

Back at the cottage where the reindeer are spotted in the morning, a set of Sámi youngsters help me into a wooden sled that is almost at ground level. Once in, the sled is pulled by a set of reindeer with glinting eyes and gently glides on the icy ground. Everything is almost pitch dark including the sky owing to the clouds. However, the rhythmic jangle of bells tied around the reindeer neck along with the raspy sound of the sled as it moved on the icy ground pierces the stillness, making it a very mindful experience. Into this stillness, the guide narrates stories from Sámi folklore — of trolls, of reindeer handed by the sun, of forest spirits and other mythical creatures. In the hazy darkness, the tall trees loom into the sky and appear to be alive, thanks to Sámi stories swirling in the head. It is an enduring image that has lived on over time and distance.