“SAREK?” SHE PAUSED, looking up at us over black-framed glasses as she handed me the hotel receipt. “It’s early for Sarek.” She hesitated, still smiling; but her pale blue eyes narrowed, betraying her concern.
“It’s very cold there in February. So far from anywhere, there are no roads, no tracks and no huts at all. You do know that, don’t you?”
“It’s ok,” we replied. “We know.”
White out
Our conversation is abandoned as the wind gathers speed, the last muffled words swept away with another ferocious blast of spindrift. From now on, we signal to each other like divers in a murky depth, our vacant eyes pulled wider by the drag of the goggles on our cheeks. Balaclavas cover our faces, jackets are zipped tight, and our fur-lined trapper hats are secured by the goggles. Earlier, I’d watched Iza fall a few feet beneath me as an invisible cornice collapsed under her weight. Her pulk teetered above her whilst she calmly unclipped from its rope, removed skis, and performed an ungainly yet successful belly flop back to my level.
‘Embrace the learning curve. The journey becomes more enriching if complacency is left at home.’
We study the contours of the map, straining to transfer each line onto the blank white canvas in front of us. Neither up nor down, gully nor mound,
