Norway winter sports holidays: Dog sledding and cross-country skiing in remote Rondablikk
Making tracks: Emily settles in to her first dog-sledding experienceI have never skied and the last time I moved rapidly through snow was as a child, sliding on a makeshift toboggan, before toppling off in front of my class. It is safe to say that I am not a natural-born athlete. And as for dogs, I have yet to go doe-eyed when presented with one. So why, I ask myself, am I doing this?All around me, the landscape is a flat, sparse, white. I am in Rondablikk, on the edge of Norways first National Park, Rondane a pristine expanse in the south-east of this long, winter-bound country. Its high mountain plateau, vast icy lakes and frosted meadows make it perfect for winter adventure. The snow is clean, and thick a different beast to its inferior, sludgy equivalent in Britain a gift from nature that is almost embraced. Certainly, the Norwegians find it as natural to ski as to walk. Im hoping but not expecting that by the end of my trip, I will feel the same.
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Paws for t! hought: Dogsledding Norway's dogs are an enthusiastic mix of husky, pointer and greyhoundThis is not a McDonalds dog sledding trip, Live says. You will harness your own dogs and get involved with the whole process from start to finish. They will not hurt you, unless you hurt them. Again, I wonder why, exactly, I am here.Theres a hot stench of hound as were handed the harnesses. My team of dogs includes Sinatra, a striking white fellow with opal blue eyes. We call him the son of the devil, says Live. Greg tells me that I need to show these pooches who is boss. Silently, I think to myself that the dogs already know who the boss is. And it isnt me. For starters, they dont seem to know or wont acknowledge the command for stop. Luckily, there is a plastic mat that can be thrown to the snow to slow them or, as a last resort, a metal brake. Live is unconcerned. I dont have time to teach 40 dogs to respond to someone shouting stop, she says. I usually cower from canines, preferring the indoorsy softness of cats. But for all the barking and howling, I soon realise that I am finding this particular set of dogs strangely endearing. Having to greet your team and coerce them into a harness is not easy. But the dogs have such varying personality: there are lazy ones, who lie on their backs when you so much as gesture towards them; wild, strong beasts who dont take yes for an answer; loyal creatures eager to behave.The tension builds as we prepare to leave. Hooting and screaming continues as each dog is attached to a sled. I am near the back of the group. Greg, the stern taskmaster is behind me. And then were off. Immediately, as the sled in front lurches forward, my brain misplaces the instructions about braking and steering.While the others whizz off stylishly, I keep my foot slightly on the brake, making my exit all stunted jolts. Wheeeeee I yell, unable to behave like anything but a small child. A burst into movement, and we push into the forest, winding through the trees. I try to anticipate when to brake and when to l! ean, so the sled wont upturn. The power in every limb of these creatures becomes clear as I lift my feet completely off the brake, and they pound the snow, pulling ever faster.
The white stuff: Rondablikk, in south-eastern Norway, offers endless terrain for dog-sleddingWithin minutes, four empty sleds rattle off into the distance. Selected group members, including me, are implanted in various deep holes in the snow, while their teams of dogs wallop off towards the horizon. While some hold on to their sleds and end up getting dragged through the snow face-down, I adopt a safety-first method of jumping off as soon as I sense danger, however big or small.A swift leap into the snow means no feet tangled in rope, no being run over by the dogs behind. The only problem with this method is that once you let go, your team doesnt wait for you. They gallop away and you have to catch up with them.Finally, we come to a plateau, and everything goes quiet. There is a total whiteness, and the wind blows the surface snow in wave-like patterns. It is surreal and breathtaking, a view I will never forget.Then heavy sheets of snow start to fall. We pick up the pace, belting around the13 km loop, only stopping when a group member falls off (which is more regularly than any of us would like). At times the snow is so deep that the dogs sink into it, having to trowel their way forward, the sled going awry behind them.But the snowstorm finally subsides, the sun comes out and all is peaceful. I see a wooden chalet and feel safe. I thank my dogs for the tour of their mountains.
DIY: Despite being a beginner, Emily had to harness her own dog teamThat night, I feel I have earned my rest. I am staying at the Rondablikk hotel, an inviting traditional hideway, despite the alarming amount of taxidermy including a g! iant bea r imported from Russia, a group of tiny ducklings and around twenty types of rodent. But there is a curious charm to it. At sun-down, I drink thick hot chocolate and eat cinnamon buns at a caf that is like something from Hansel And Gretel, then relax in the hotel sauna.However, my foray into winter sports is not over. Far from it. For, having mastered the art of dog-sledding, my next task is to learn cross-country skiing that most Scandinavian of pursuits, all long, elegant skis and sense of balance.This is where I meet my guide, Ingrid Stengard. Within minutes of saying hello to her, I am struck by how effortlessly she glides through the snow. Clipping my boots into the skis, I sense that I will struggle to replicate her poise. Each spindly ski seems to offer no support and the act of gliding requires coordination something I lack.Nor does my outfit help the situation. In a part of the world where winter temperatures can plummet to -25, I am dressed in all manner of hats and mittens. It is a look never to be repeated.But, with my first, cautious movements forward, I realise that cross-country skiing is not quite the impossible dream I had thought. The push-off-and-slide motion soon becomes a breeze. And out on the flat plains, the whole experience seems joyfully serene. Im even able to admire the enormous snow-clad mountains.My first slope comes and goes without much drama, filling me with an undeserved confidence one that quickly dissipates on the second steeper hill, where I come crashing to the ground and struggle to stand up again.
Crafty canines: Dog-sledding can offer an insight into truly wild terrainYet there are no bruises, no injuries. And after seven kilometers we huddle under a small shelter, where we barbecue trout and hot dogs. There is a local cheese made from cows and sheeps milk, with the colour and taste of fudge, and rye bread sandwiches. And there are Ingrids tall t! ales a fine Norwegian tradition.In Norway we have a lot of trolls, she explains. There are good trolls, and nasty trolls, and they come out at night. But the worst sort is the water trolls. They prey on tourists, pulling them through the snow to their underground lairs.She pauses for effect. But I am unfazed. After coming through my first attempts at dog-sledding and skiing unscathed, I fancy my chances against any troll.
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