Fjällräven Polar 2023 Expedition: Challenge 1.
Swedish brand Fjällräven’s Polar 2023 300km dog-sledding journey across the Scandinavian Arctic is open to 20 selected participants. For three weeks the applicants are given “challenges” to answer that showcase why the jury should choose them. I’m one of the ones trying and hoping.
In this blog I’ll take you through Challenge 1: what is your story and motivations for applying for the expedition?
“We want to know why you want to join the 2023 team. What makes you want to sleep in temperatures as low as minus 30°C, or ride a dog sled for 300km? Fjällräven Polar will be different from anything you have done before. Why do you want to do it? How do you believe your life will change through this experience?”
I did see this challenge last year I think, but it wasn’t the right time to apply. I wasn’t in the right physical or emotional space. Yet, after the last 8 months of having to shift my expectations, push out of my comfort zone, challenge my value and purpose, and get through some tough work, emotional and financial times, I’m ready. Listen/watch my introduction in this Instagram reel.
Comfort and control in challenge situations.
I would say I am a methodical person. I’m the nuts and bolts. I calculate risk based on the full picture. I ease myself in to ensure I am able to control the situation should I need to. Of course I also have the point further down of understanding and appreciating the forces of nature: sometimes it’s simply out of your control, but you can learn how to mitigate problems. Part of the need to be in control is to feel comfortable; that I am totally aware of the situation and even if it’s a little tetchy what I’m getting myself in to, I can see a way out or a way to make it more manageable.
I like to test how comfortable I can be in challenging situations. So this expedition is the greatest test for that. I don’t particularly like being cold, I get worried sleeping out in the open, I have a fear of dogs, and I’ve only been out in the snow a handful of times.
However, having edged into those fears over time has in fact eased them. I’ve teased out the worries and made them more manageable. I’ve ascertained a self-awareness of my reaction. I guess I’ve developed coping mechanisms through rationality.
The Instagram reel I posted on this topic was filmed just after I got out of the local reservoir I swim in. It’s cold open water, but it’s more managed than when I’ve swam alone in lakes over the summer, so it feels more of a place that I can experiment with length of time or swimming technique.
I’d also say that being comfortable in challenging situations also helps me be collected when there is stress. Different circumstances provide different types of stress, but for example, when marshalling at a race someone came to me with a bee stuck in their collarbone and I addressed equipment available to me, the fact that we were mid-pandemic so I’d have to get close, the worry of the runner, and my own capacity to remove the sting. It worked; I actually wasn’t that confident yet assessing the full picture allowed me to be comfortable in what was actually a challenging situation.
Can I do the same in the middle of a snowy wilderness with dogs and a team to consider as well as my own discomfort?
Images: 1. A glacial lake in Andalsnes, Norway; 2. white-water rafting in Slovenia; 3. a super wet race in the Grisedale valley, Lake District; 4. addressing claustrophobia by visiting the cave trampolining attraction Bounce Below, Wales; 5. a swim in Ullswater, Lake District; 6. certification of completion of a tandem skydive.
Interest in materials and equipment required to survive in an Arctic winter.
As I work in the fashion and textile space, materials simply excite me. I want to further understand their properties, their sustainability. But it goes to a deeper level of appreciating the tactility. My MA was focussed on utilising “familiar” materials so that a) we’re more likely to cherish the clothing and b) we’ll feel safe in survival situations. Wool is always a key material for me. So what would Fjällräven provide so that we can feel comfortable and safe in an extreme environment?
To go one further, I’m intrigued what the footprint of all this equipment is. The brand also want to promote the outdoors as a place for everyone no matter what gear they have; so how would all this equipment compare to the materials indigenous Arctic folk use and wear? What do Fjällräven do after the expedition is over six days later and the heavy duty equipment is no longer required - do they re-use it elsewhere?
I don’t believe I’ve experienced a temperature below -10˚C. And actually an occasion last winter at -8˚C was going for a snowy run then waiting in line for Kanelbulle - in shorts. It was cold, though my wind and waterproof jacket kept my core warm, and the fleece headband kept my ears cosy. This Instagram reel explains this point visually.
So how much do we actually physically need to survive at temperatures as low as -30˚C, and how much is required just so we feel comfortable, safe and secure?
Images: various shots from Fjällräven showing the clothing and sequipment required to survive on a polar expedition, including sleeping bag, sleeping mat, windproof sled gear and layering for when moving.
The sense of nothingness.
There has been very few occasions where I’ve experienced the same sensation; having walked through 60cm deep snow in some standard walking boots with a 35L rucksack, I arrived on the summit of Helvellyn in the Lake District. Even though it’s a small mountain, due to the variable conditions caused by locality of the sea, other ranges, and the shape of the massif, it has it’s own daily mountaineers who hike up to report on the weather. Up there I discovered maybe only 5 other people, rime ice on the shelter that I’d never previously experienced and sat down to eat my sandwich and drink a flask of tea. I realised that it was utterly silent - or rather, more than silent. There was nothingness: no wind, no chatter, no animals. The snow muffled everything and still it felt clear. I haven’t ever felt so calm.
During CBT sessions (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) you are told to visualise a place where you feel calm, so that if you feel a panic attack arising, you can go to that place in your mind. I fortunately haven’t needed to use the visualisation technique so much since, yet that moment up on Helvellyn reminds me of the total appreciation for nothing and everything, a complete awareness of the surroundings and me within it. This Instagram reel talks through the thoughts a little more visually.
I urgingly want to experience that again. The blurring of sky and land and lake and terrain. The immersion of my body moving in that space.
Images: 1. finding a patch of snow up Ben Nevis, Scotland; 2. standing on the summit of Helvellyn in March after having never experienced hiking in snow before; 3. sometimes I’ve experienced the oppression of the dark forest when on a night run. 4; listening to the forest speak, Isle of Arran; 5. listening to the rain falling and lake lapping, Ullswater; 6. sitting in the environment and looking out, Roseberry Topping, North Yorkshire.
Understanding the forces of nature.
Though I’ve had some interesting experiences outdoors, it’s simply nice to be able to have more isn’t it? You’re put in a position where you recognise you’re part of the ecosystem and that humbles you. Whether it’s in an extreme environment like up a mountain and the clouds open, or you’re cycling in the city battling vehicles, pedestrians and wind tunnels caused by buildings. Even working as a gardener I am suddenly subject to hailstones in May for example.
On a personal level I recognise that I feel most alive in colder temperatures, even if not entirely comfortable. And I also recognise that I also feel alive when I have used logic and skills (and sometimes tech) to work with nature to get out of a tricky situation even if nature is telling me no.
This begs a wider question: what does the Scandinavian Arctic look like now, what impact has it seen due to climate change, and what is my role in that as someone on an expedition using resources and generally just having a privileged time?
What can I take from the experience to highlight what’s happening by nature and to nature? How would being in an extreme environment embed even further my acknowledgement that I am in fact nature?
Images: 1. Norwegian mountains looking dramatic; 2. Coniston fells looking moody; 3. Fjällräven Polar expedition shot of camp; 4. standing by Low Force waterfall, County Durham; 5. a soggy trail run; 6. running in the mist, Helm Crag, Lake District.
I’m not a racer, I’m in it for the day out.
I first went on an outdoors education camp at age 12, a week away from home in the countryside trying out watersports and climbing and teamwork. At 14 I went on another and was completely transformed by the activities and experiences (including the zipline accident I was involved distressingly in). So even though my family aren’t one that go on weekend walks, it became a thing I thrived on, so in adult life I would take myself off for walks, hikes and cycles. This included two Interrail trips where I’d find unusual local activities to try, a 3 week cycle across Scotland and many solo camping weekends. I simply wanted to see places, be active, explore a new place - and this still stands, even though I switched mostly to running.
I now undertake road marathons and trail ultras, SwimRun, cold water swimming, cycling, speed hikes and multi-day run-walk trips - all to continue experiencing the world. I don’t have the means for expensive overseas trips, and frankly haven’t had the time with juggling many freelance jobs, though I make do with what I have, and that’s enough for me to feel nourished. I base my adventures on where I want to go within my means, and go along for the day out rather than racing through it. I stop to take photos of wildlife, check out the plants situation, have conversations with locals, and generally very much look forward to the cup of tea at the end.
The movement, sights, sounds, chats (even if only to myself and the animals) are what I do it for. I definitely like to push myself and feel an accomplishment in that, however I’m not going for a race.
This expedition is (or seems to me to be) a grand adventure, not a race. It’s about teamwork - with you and the other participants, but also with your dogs. It’s an immersion into the landscape, into a way of life with the snow caves and sledding and slow living.
Images: 1. running with a friend at the Maverick Race Forest of Dean event; 2. out on a friend’s trip in the Derbyshire Dales; 3. cycling along the Caledonian Canal on a three-week trip on an ill-equipped bike; 4. enjoying the small things such as a satsuma during a hot exposed trail ultra; 5. stopping to take in the views of Tynmouth, Dorset after another set of cliff stairs; 6. scrambling up to the Langdale Pikes with Easedale Tarn in the distance during Maverick Race Lakes ultra.
Indigenous wisdom and land rights.
During some research on fashion activism organisations for a content piece, I was on the Environmental Justice Foundation’s website and came across a short film called We Cannot Go To The Moon. This was about the Sámi people living across the breadth of the Scandinavian Arctic, and how their culture is engrained in the landscape. They are reindeer herders yet are noticeably feeling the effects of climate change; the snow types are changing so affecting availability of fodder for their reindeer herd. Within Swedish (or Scandinavian) law, if an indigenous Sámi person does not have a reindeer herd then they will lose their land access rights.
While I’m not entirely sure this expedition will slot closely into being in the same environment as local folk, it’s not entirely implausible either. I’ve been up there in summer and there is a mix of tourism, indigenous families, and non-indigenous Swedish or Norwegian people. I’d love to learn more about how this area of the world is being affected by climate change, by politics, by a shift in desires. It’s a wilderness that feels so far away, and yet isn’t.
And even if people interaction outside of the expedition isn’t high, there is still the opportunity to witness local fauna and flora. I’ll happily go on a foraging walk to understand medicinal benefits of plants (or how they can dye), be inspired for textile creation by their textures and colours, and appreciate the difference in ecology. What information could I glean and use to share the story? Or perhaps it needs to be protected, so how to be respectful with what I see and learn?
We can’t talk about environmental stewardship without addressing social issues; Fjällräven want people in the outdoors, so how do they interact on this expedition with locals? I simply want to understand and raise my awareness. Here is an Instagram reel where I give some direct thoughts on the subject.
What insight could I take away to raise awareness of the breadth of indigenous wisdom and land rights?
Images: 1-2. still from The Great Reindeer Migration film on BBC explaining the indigenous land and food; 3. a Polar Expedition person with their gear, via Fjällräven; 4. one of the sledding dogs from the Polar Expedition, via Fjällräven; 5. lichen in a SSSI, Lake District; 6. lichen on a tree, Isle of Arran.
What would the pollution footprint be?
I’m a team member of the community organisation Plastic Free Hackney. I lead as “sustainable life” as possible with the decisions I make on materials and interactions. I work in education of ethical and sustainable textiles and food. I haven’t flown in, I don’t know, 10 years. As far as possible I lead a minimal way of living, and choose to use my objective rational voice as an opportunity to storytell on the urgent need to live sustainably.
So flying across to the Arctic is a big thing in itself. I wondered if they’d let me get the train, but then having been on the train up north in summer am uncertain whether trains even run in winter. And that’s only to Kiruna. Then there’s all the clothing and gear required - how much energy and resources went into producing that, and what will happen to it all once the expedition is over? I also got thinking about what happens to human and dog waste out there, especially as part of it is across a large swathe of permafrost - would we take all waste with us on the sled for the duration of the journey, can it compost, can it be burnt, and what are the implications of all of this.
Additionally I was wondering if there is already pollution in the Arctic, and though maybe it wouldn’t be come upon in this expedition due to the journey’s location, maybe there’s insight from locals - does plastic pollution arrive in the fjords, how is waste treated from the towns and villages, and is the industry intensive? I’ve been to Kiruna and I think that’s coal, and part of this is in Norway, so there’s oil… some towns are also relatively big, and there are a significant amount of tourists relative (especially along the Kungsleden).
Here’s an Instagram reel where I explain some immediate thoughts on this.
So, what would be the total footprint for this expedition? What learnings can I take away and share on the wider conversation about pollution and the impact of expeditions?
Images: 1. at our monthly Plastic Free Hackney Pollution Pick; 2. Arctic pollution via haultail.com; 3. Norwegian industry via unis.no; 4. polar bear with fishing net via BBC News; 5. seabirds making nests out of plastic pollution in the Arctic via rcinet.ca; 6. Fjällräven’s expedition gear.