WORDS & PICTURES: Luke Sutherland
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People shuffled their wheels along the endlessly stretching tiled floor. But I was still, having arrived three hours early – apart from my tongue, which touched precariously at my tooth. Already housing a filling, I had found myself eating as soon as I walked into the station, and one bad bite left it wobbling in place. Why did it have to be now, of all times? At that point, I felt just like my half-cracked front tooth: hanging on by a thread.
I was momentarily fixed to a position as my head hit the pillow that night. The room rocking to and fro was comforting as we sped along the tracks to Kiruna. Every minute that I closed my eyes was a minute closer to the Arctic Circle. Soon, the autumn leaves would vanish into boot-deep snow that left a frost on the glass and icy breath through open windows. A choo choo, the whirring of the wheels, and rifts in frozen lakes broke through the silence of the wilderness.
Each to a hammock, a Swedish couple shared the carriage with me. After failing to connect with anyone at my hostel in Stockholm, conversation was a welcome change. They departed in the early morning for their winter home, and I awoke to my own personal travelling igloo. The snow was on the trees. After two magical sunsets of travelling, I was grateful for the strength to follow my heart. I could have turned around in Stockholm, but now I had made it, solo, to the gates of Abisko, Sweden.
It was 3pm, and the sky was already filled with stars. Close to a full moon, and in a world iced white, we could still see where we were going. Passengers split left, and I gathered my new hostel was up to the right. In front of me a woman walked, turned, and asked: “Are you going to Abisko?”
A howling in the night called us up the frozen slopes, as little lights materialised into a complex of small wooden buildings. The huskies were going to bed now; we could see them in the morning. The woman was French, and we were staying in the same complex. There were three or four dorms, connected by a kitchen, and by the Spirit of the Hunter that presides over these Auroral Lands.
The ‘Chai Sami’, as we fondly referred to him, was waiting in my dorm. We talked of yoga, and the glacial canyons he had walked just the other day. He left me to my practises, and I was alone again. Just outside the window, where the shadows of the mountains danced, the moon waited knowingly for the right moment.
I walked into the kitchen, and she was there, across the table. Her smile was the first thing that lit up the room. Deep brown hair and eyes. The French woman was also there, along with three men (the Sami, the Swiss and the American.) My attention was diverted to cooking, at which I had a laugh with the German girls, who were also struggling to boil spaghetti properly. That girl joined the conversation at the table about chocolate, and I leant in to say, “orange chocolate is the best.” She scrunched up her face.
A laptop hummed at the table; eyes watched out of open windows. The American told his stories, his tales of sleeping in a cavern of rubbish in Iraq. We were all gathered in the ritual now, the whole world forgotten for the sky. At the slightest hint, we would scramble for our coats and wade into the shining snow. The French woman sounded the alarm.
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On my first night in Abisko, Sweden, I was going to see the Northern Lights. On the crest of the hill we all waited, united by the mystical, unquestionable bond that the hunt gave to us. There were too many clouds; it would all be covered up. We posed for a photo, and the Chai Sami’screamed: “Look!” As I later found, that is about the only way your body is able to process the sight in words. Faintly in the sky behind us, I saw wisps of green curling between the darkened-blue grey. “Look!” Gathering around the camera, we had taken the perfect photo, the Aurora crowning our victory. That was only the beginning.
Tomorrow broke, and I literally followed in the footsteps of the Chai Sami and the French woman through the frozen canyons. That girl ran off into the mountains, her home. Dinner came, and the Sami cooked us his chai – the warrior brew for the tribe. On the way back from our hike, we had spotted the perfect lake to hunt. Together we all laughed, and the mountains of Abisko, Sweden, echoed. That girl and I washed up, bumping arms and pushing each other’s clean plates back into the soapy water. We sat together in the sauna, with just a towel between us, along with the strange old man who owned the hostel, showing his pride.
As a clock somewhere else chimed 10:30pm, we began our voyage to the lake. “Your hair looks really pretty,” I said. And she looked at me. As we began to walk, I took her arm in mine. I felt as close to her as anyone could, with two pairs of trousers, three thermal tops, a hoodie, two pairs of gloves, a beanie and a skiing coat on. We waited, and we waited. I hesitated. For any sign. It became a game in my head, where Aurora was expecting me to show the true depths of my feeling. To call the lights out of the void. We stood closer.
As midnight arrived, and the sounds of our singing for warmth were forgotten in winter’s dust, the full moon chose its moment. Two separate portals opened in the sky, at opposing sides of the frozen surface. Snakelike trails of the most beautiful green plumed across the water towards each other. Above and below, they met in the middle and intertwined.
“Wow!”
“Look!”
“Oh, my God!”
A river of light, Auroral brilliance, curling into a Phoenix at the edges. The guardian Moon watches her creation with transcendent joy. I just began to cry. As footsteps crunched away behind us, we held each other. Just like the sky, we intertwined. The magic spell was sealed. “Happy birthday,” she said to me.
The next morning, she was supposed to leave Abisko, and I had the most deviant feeling in my stomach that wouldn’t let me rest. “Can I come with you?” With the grace of the Arctic Aurora, we pulled out of the snowy-tarmaced car park. “What kind of music do you like?”
The complex faded away, like a memory of another world after dreaming. Everywhere I looked, as we turned the corner, there were crystal lakes and rocky slopes that called us to adventure. Next stop was the Ice Hotel. At that point, I was just like my half-cracked front tooth, still hanging on by a thread. To what? I didn’t know anymore.
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