When my friend first suggested dog sledding, I was pretty apprehensive. I’d looked into it while researching my trip to Luleå, but I’d almost ruled it out. It was expensive, and in my mind, I pictured something “rough and tumble.” As a lower-limb amputee, I just wasn’t sure if my body could handle it or if it would be too punishing.
I sat on the idea for 24 hours, watching YouTube videos of others doing it, and finally thought, I have to do this. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Through a friend-of-a-friend connection, we booked a session with Fanny, a French woman who has been in the area for a decade. She’d originally worked in Helsingborg but moved north because she wanted to learn more and have the experience of working with dogs.
The drive from Luleå took about an hour. Fanny was incredibly mindful of my needs; her main concern was around my balance. Initially, she asked if I could straddle the sled with a leg on each runner—the “skates”—but I couldn’t manage that and rest my prosthetic. Instead, I sat nestled in the sled with my legs straight out, tucked under a heavy blanket and fully rugged up.
The dogs were so incredibly excited—yapping and pacing, desperate to get away. Once we started, they were beautiful to watch: gentle, focused, and responsive. Fanny didn’t yell; she spoke to them with soft, simple instructions—vänster (left) and höger (right)—calling each of her dogs by name.
We began with a loop around a frozen lake. The vast flatness under a bright blue sky was wonderful. Then we moved into the forest, where the trees were heavy with snow. We got stuck once in a particularly thick drift, but Fanny slowed them down, and we navigated through it. For about an hour, I just lay back, looking up at the sky and the snow-laden trees. It was surprisingly relaxing, and Fanny and I had a great conversation about her life with the pack.
Passion Laponie – Séjours en Laponie Suédoise
Later that day, we headed back toward Luleå and stopped at Korvgubben (which literally translates to “The Sausage Man”). It’s a classic Swedish takeaway staple. I had a sausage with mash and veggies—a perfect, simple bit of Swedish cuisine.
Next, we went to learn about reindeer and Sami traditions. The Sami are the Indigenous people of Northern Sweden. Our guide was originally from Kiruna, about three hours away, and her family are traditional reindeer herders.
They are actually smaller than I imagined, and they are the only deer species where the females grow antlers too. Interestingly, while most male deer lose their antlers in early winter, castrated males (steers) keep theirs longer—meaning the famous “Bambi” was technically a steer!
We watched them being fed with lichen, though I left the feeding to the kids in the group. I was more interested in the culture, so we went into a lavvu—the traditional Sami tent. Inside, she had a fire going and spoke about how her grandparents lived a traditional life until the 1940s. She explained the “holy” area of the kitchen and the tradition of never turning your back on it.
She also performed a couple of joiks for us—traditional Sami tribute songs. She performed one for her cousin, which was a beautiful, haunting little tune. We drank lingonberry juice out of kåsas (traditional wooden cups). While our set was recycled plastic, she showed us the authentic ones carved from birch burls—those lumpy outgrowths on trees, which reminded me of how bowls are sometimes made in Aboriginal culture.
The day ended with a walk through the snow—which was quite hard going and more “cross-country” than I was used to, nearly losing my balance once—followed by a quiet dinner in Luleå. Now, I’m writing this from a second-class sleeper carriage on the night train back to Stockholm. I chose the train over a flight because I wanted the experience of waking up as the light starts to hit the countryside.
I’ll be in Stockholm for the next few days. More to come.
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