Thaw

When everything is covered in snow it's sometimes difficult to remember that snow is made of water. In Nordreisa snow and water are each as much a part of life as the other, but in my mind, until now,  they have been two separate things. Water is what lies between us and the mountains opposite. It's what comes down from the spring behind the house for us to drink and wash in. It's what turns to light-blue ice under the bridge or on the road into town where your car goes into the ditch. Snow is what falls from the sky and paints the landscape white. It's what you hike through or ski on. It's the thing that sometimes hides the whole world behind a wall of falling fragments and settles on the roofs of houses and the branches of trees.

We're well past the equinox and the sun makes itself known around 3.30am, setting some time after 10 at night. There aren't many clouds up this way at the moment and the snow is starting to melt. Most of the ice is already gone, but months of snowfall takes longer to thaw. It turns into a blanket of brittle glittering crystals before it finds its way back into being water. Where days ago I could walk on the surface, I now fall through to my knees. Sheets of snow which have been hanging like awnings over the edge of houses fall away. Massive clumps come sliding down off the roof and thump on the wooden boards of the house's veranda, where I sit writing this, wearing a jacket, a hat and fingerless gloves.

Everywhere there is the sound of running water and falling droplets. In the distance I can hear sea gulls laughing. These last two weeks there have been birds everywhere. Snow sparrows have appeared, little black and white birds which flit around in groups, and there seems to have been an increase in eagles. All types of water fowl have appeared in the fjord, including some mallard ducks of the kind I used to feed as a child in Swindon's Queen's Park. In the fjord last week we saw either some kind of small dolphins or very large fish which kept breaking the surface of the water around sunset. There was also a theory that they might have been otters, because our neighbours have seen an otter making its way through our garden. So I guess I'm not much of a naturalist if all I can tell you is "there was something down there in the water," but it was quite a sight and that night I dreamt of porpoise and otters the size of sea lions. 

All this and the light constantly refracting on the water tells you winter is truly over. We've made it through our first arctic winter. And you know what? It really wasn't that bad.

Easter Skiing

Skiing at Easter is a kind of tradition in Norway. Outside today there is a constant heavy snowfall, but yesterday the sky was cloudless. We went 13km, give or take. That's not too bad considering I've never gone cross country skiing before.