Letters from 68 degrees, Kiruna

I don’t know how we found ourselves there. We were exploring, and there were many old tracks to choose from. We didn’t climb any fences to get in, though we had to crawl under one to get out, so perhaps we weren’t supposed to be there.

We were near Kiruna’s copper mine (currently resting, waiting for world copper prices to rise), around the side of Kiruna’s iron ore mine that isn’t visible from the town. We could see the mine’s iron pellets factory and processing plant, and all the well-concealed associated pollution.

A lot of the area is wetlands – some of it was once part of the lake but the mining company has drained most of it away because it lies on top of the mine.

There are no buildings, no people – it’s too wet, too polluted, too generally undesirable. Or maybe it’s just that there’s too good a view of the back of the mine. Now a wind farm sells the wind energy above it, and more than one mining company have the rights to what’s underneath it.

It has a different feel to emptiness in the fjäll. Here you don’t know what underground pollutants run through the streams or are embedded in the earth, yet wildlife know it as an undisturbed area where they can hunt and breed in peace. It reminded me of film I had seen of the Chernobyl area after the disaster.

As I stopped to take a picture I caught the fast movement of a creature, perhaps a fox. Its prey was probably an arctic hare that raced by, and then sat motionless on a rock. It was the largest hare we’d ever seen. A poisoned landscape is rich and plentiful and breeds super-animals.

The area is littered with empty roads that were clearly once in regular use. Their old speed restriction signs still stand at the roadside, advising passing wildlife to slow down. The roads connect with other dirt tracks and paths, and wide, winding old tracks which are probably even older, leading nowhere in particular.

We followed one of them as it snaked up the hill through birch forest. Buzzards flew and squeaked overhead, letting us know we were invading their territory. The road wound on, and on. We had to give up in the end. It seemed to be leading us further and further away, to no identifiable destination, which was both intriguing and worrying.

Later we looked on a map and guessed the road had probably led to a disused mine. It was just an empty road leading to a hole in the ground then. The repeating story of Kiruna, drawn in the landscape.

As I’ve mentioned before, there are only four roads out of Kiruna and two of them are dead ends, one of which only goes round the corner. So there’s not much choice when you’re planning a day out. It’s right, left or straight on. After that it comes down to how far you want to drive before you get out and walk. It’s that simple.

Yesterday, reaching the junction at the end of the street, we looked at one another – right, left, or straight on? Right, we decided – we were in agreement (there’s a one in three chance after all). Towards Abisko then. We had a picnic with us, and our walking boots.

The drive along the fjäll road is part of the pleasure of such an outing – looking to the distant mountains, and at this time of year passing over fast rushing rivers. There are other cars and lorries, but they pass only occasionally so don’t interfere too much with your appreciation of the landscape.

We saw two reindeer by the roadside, with new springtime soft brown antlers. This is the time of year they should move up to higher ground to find new, mosquito-free grazing. We hoped these two strays would find their way to join their herd. It’s always a worry, seeing them so close to the road.

The winter had made large holes in the road surface, and as the we bounced along it seemed worse than usual. Then we noticed that ahead of us was a vehicle slicing off the top layer, in preparation for a new road surface. We’re grateful, in the long run, but while they’re doing it it’s hard to appreciate the gesture.

Our progress slowed to a very bumpy crawl. Every kilometre or so the road had obstacles on one side or the other – machinery, piles of rock, traffic cones. Sometimes there were traffic lights but sometimes not, so occasionally we found ourselves facing a lorry driving straight at us on the same side of the road.

Later, back home, we read that two motorbikes had collided with reindeer – probably the ones we’d seen. Perhaps frustration with their slow progress had led the motorbikes to speed up at the wrong moment. One of the men is seriously injured in hospital. Nothing was said about the reindeer, unquestionably dead.

The next day at the junction we both said, ‘straight on’. The dead end road to Nikklaluokta seemed a much calmer prospect than the road to Abisko.

And it was, at least for the first five minutes. Until we were directed onto another new, as yet unmade road, stones and dust flying ahead of us, digging machines ahead. It was another road of juddering and following slow digging machines. This new road will eventually replace the Nikkaluokta road, which, being close to the mine, is threatened like the rest of Kiruna. It isn’t a road yet though; it’s just pile of grit and stones.

It rather takes the shine off an outing, crawling along behind a jumping trail of cars. There are no other roads, so there aren’t any helpful long, winding diversions. We felt rather tired of roadworks, and yet at the same time we felt rather guilty about complaining. After all, if they don’t repair the roads we complain, and if they do…we complain.

So that was two out three roads we wouldn’t choose to drive down this week. What about ‘left’ then? Ah – well, this is the week that the immediate access to that particular escape road is completely shut off, due to pipe-laying activity for ‘the new Kiruna’.

It’s the start of the holiday season, everyone wants to get away to their summer houses, the tourists are arriving with their camper vans – it’s obviously the very best time for major roadworks.