Arctic

I skied up to the highest mountain hut in the Swedish Arctic. My reward? A whiteout … | Sweden holidays

The light coming through the sleeper train window wakes me. It’s nearly time. Climbing down the ladder past the other snoozing occupants, I head into the corridor. A few hours ago there were only trees, an endless unfurling ribbon of spruce and birch. Now there is snow, vast banks of it. And sometimes, when the train roars through a big drift, great spumes of white blast out on either side, blocking any view.

In the restaurant car, I watch the map on my phone as a blue dot approaches a straight dashed line. A frozen lake and distant pale mountains appear. Then at 6.09am we cross the Arctic Circle. Forty-eight hours previously, I had been in London St Pancras station, queueing for the Eurostar. Now, five trains later, never having left terra firma, I am in the Arctic. Most of my fellow travellers are Swedes with hefty bags of skis and well-stocked sledges that look expedition-ready. With their weathered faces and lean muscle, they look intimidatingly capable.

My plan is a mini-expedition of my own: to ski to the highest mountain hut in the Swedish Arctic, and get back down in one piece. Because I have never used the particular type of skis required for going uphill, the plan seems ambitious.

The train passes through the mining town of Kiruna, then skirts the 43-mile (70km) long lake of Torneträsk. A pair of moose graze on the stunted birch trees. There are no more pines; we have passed beyond their limit of endurance. All around is the ethereal pale beauty of the hills, their summits soft with wind-puffed quiffs of snow powder.

At Björkliden, I disembark. The ski station is right next to the railway, which has almost reached its northernmost limit, curling through one more ski village, Riksgränsen, before heading west to the Norwegian port of Narvik. Within two hours of arriving, I am on skis, gingerly tackling a beginners’ slope.

Skiing in the Swedish Arctic has some immediate obvious differences to more southerly locations. After the spring equinox, the days are longer. By mid-May there is no darkness at all. You ski under the midnight sun. The weather is changeable and people pay special attention to the wind: the chill factor can be extreme. But there are similarities, too: I am still a wobbly skier. I take it easy. I spend a lot of time talking to veterans of the climb up to Låktatjåkko mountain hut.

“It’s 9km,” they tell me. “The last bit can be a challenge.”

I practise putting on my skins: long bands that fit over the underside of the skis and make them refuse to go backwards, even downhill. I cannot help wondering if it might be easier to walk, but I am soon corrected. “It’s going to snow heavily tonight. You would just sink up to your waist. And you need the skis to get back down.”

In hut pursuit: the writer skiing up towards Låktatjåkko.

The advice is to wait for the supply wagon to leave at 10am. It’s a tracked snowplough and will create a route to follow. There are also marker poles every 25 metres. I’m advised to wear an avalanche alarm and carry a lightweight folding shovel.

At 10am the next morning, I am outside the hotel, watching a company of Swedish soldiers in white combat suits ski away. The snowcat is loading up with food. There are passengers too. The driver confirms that it is often possible to go up without skiing at all, but there are no more seats.

I set off in the wake of its broad tracks. The ski skins work well. The sun is out, there is no wind and the views are stupendous. Five minutes later, I’m in a whiteout, struggling to spot the next marker pole, the snowcat long gone and its tracks fast disappearing. The temperature is -6C, and the wind is in my face and strengthening. I start counting steps. Despite the cold, I am down to two layers of clothing, wishing I had remembered the advice of the explorer Leo Houlding: “Be bold, start cold.” My respect for polar explorers has reached an all-time high. My respect for Sweden, too. What a marvellous country! They trust people to know their limits, look after themselves and be as tough as reindeer jerky. In my case, I’m not sure their trust is entirely well placed.

The final climb, as promised, is a tough one, but then the hut comes into sight, almost buried in snow, looking like the last frozen outpost on the far side of a freezing galaxy. It takes time to find the door.

Låktatjåkko mountain hut. Photograph: Wolfgang Kaehler/Alamy

Inside, the custodians, Vilma and Kicki, are preparing waffles with cloudberry jam, and the log burner in the snug is roaring. This astonishing retreat was constructed in the late 1930s and is now an acknowledged classic of its type, with simple bunkrooms, cosy public areas and a sauna. The only other guests are Martin and Johan, local skiers who have just made the harder ascent from Riksgränsen.

I munch through a plate of waffles. The top of the mountain is a tantalising 200 metres above the hut. I really want to make it. “Don’t ski,” advises Vilma. “Use snowshoes and just keep heading north.”

When blue sky reappears, I strap on the snowshoes and set off. I manage about 100 metres of the climb before the whiteout returns. Using a compass I plod on, but the lack of any visible markers is playing weird tricks on me. I spot a snowmobile up ahead, manned by two soldiers, but as I approach, the soldiers transform into swans and fly away. At that moment, I walk face-first into a snowbank.

This is my initiation into whiteout disorientation. Some skiers have reported feeling that they are moving when stationary; others, the opposite. Unhindered by visual reference points, the brain constructs its own reality.

I check my altimeter. I am 30 metres below the summit, but I can’t see how to get around this snowbank. My own tracks are now disappearing, so I return to the hut on a compass bearing and reward myself with more waffles.

The few day-trippers are gone, the fire is warm and the storm outside howling. Martin and Johan watch the weather anxiously from their armchairs. “Look,” shouts Martin at one point, “blue sky! I think it’s clearing.” But by the time he reaches the window, the whiteout has resumed. The evening passes in a fug of beer, stories and laughter.

Waffles with cloudberry jam are served in Låktatjåkko mountain hut. Photograph: Mattias Fredriksson

In the morning, the storm is still raging when the snowcat arrives. Martin and Johan are willing to ski down with me, but fearing I will hold them up, I cadge a lift. The next day, I move to Riksgränsen. There is a choice of accommodation, ranging from the boisterous fun of the main hotel to the superlative charm of Niehku Mountain Villa. Built in the old railway turntable buildings and decorated with a fascinating display of historical photos, this boutique hotel also has an excellent restaurant.

The next morning, the weather has improved and I am treated to a perfect day on the mountains, happily tootling around on blue runs while watching the experts carve powdery curves down near-vertical mountain slopes. It looks amazingly dangerous, but these locals know their limits. And so do I. Taking the easy route down, I make it to the cafe and order waffles with cloudberry jam.

The trip was provided by Visit Sweden. The writer travelled on a seven-day Interrail pass (adult £335, youth £252, senior £302, under-12 free). A one-day ski pass is £39. Låktatjåkko mountain lodge costs from £150 half-board. Further information at laplandresorts.se

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‘The Last Frontier’ review: Arctic setting is part of show’s allure

In “The Last Frontier,” which premieres Friday on Apple TV+, a plane carrying federal prisoners goes down in the Alaskan wilderness outside a town where Frank Remnick (Jason Clarke) is the U.S. Marshal. Eighteen passengers survive, among them a sort of super-soldier we will come to know as Havlock (Dominic Cooper). Sad intelligence agent Sidney Scofield (Haley Bennett) is sent to the scene by her dodgy superior (American treasure Alfre Woodard).

I won’t go into it in depth, especially given the enormous number of reveals and reversals that make up the plot; pretty much everything not written here constitutes a spoiler. The production is excellent, with well-executed set pieces — the plane crash, a tug-of-war between a helicopter and a giant bus, a fight on a train, a fight on a dam. (I do have issues with the songs on the soundtrack, which tend to kill rather than enhance the mood.) The large cast, which includes Simone Kessell as Frank’s wife, Sarah — they have just about put a family trauma behind them when opportunities for new trauma arise — and Dallas Goldtooth, William Knifeman on “Reservation Dogs,” as Frank’s right hand, Hutch, is very good.

It’s as violent as you’d expect from a show that sets 18 desperate criminals loose upon the landscape, which you may consider an attraction or deal killer. (I don’t know you.) At 10 episodes, with a lot of plot to keep in order, it can be confusing — even the characters will say, “It’s complicated” or “It’s not that simple,” when asked to explain something — and some of the emotional arcs seem strange, especially when characters turn out to be not who they seem. Things get pretty nutty by the end, but all in all it’s an interesting ride.

But that’s not what I came here to discuss. I’d like to talk about snow.

There’s a lot of snow in “The Last Frontier.” The far-north climate brings weather into the picture, literally. Snow can be beautiful, or an obstacle. It can be a blanket, as in Eliot’s “Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow,” or a straitjacket, as in 2023’s “A Murder at the End of the World,” a Christie-esque murder mystery that trapped the suspects in an Icelandic luxury hotel. It’s part of the aesthetic and part of the action, which it can slow, or stop. It can be deadly, disorienting, as when a blizzard erases the landscape (see the first season of “Fargo”). And it requires the right clothes — mufflers, fur collars, wool caps, big boots, gloves — which communicate coziness even as they underscore the cold.

A plane on a snowy field, in flames and broken apart. A helicopter flies overhead.

The snowy landscape in shows like “The Last Frontier” is part of the aesthetic and action.

(Apple)

Even when it doesn’t affect the plot directly, it’s the canvas the story is painted on, its whiteness of an intensity not otherwise seen on the screen, except in starship hallways. (It turns a moody blue after dark, magnifying the sense of mystery.) Growing up in Southern California — I didn’t see real snow until I was maybe 10? — I was trained by the movies and TV, where all Christmases are white if the budget allows, to understand its meaning.

It was enough that “The Last Frontier” was set in Alaska (filmed in Quebec and Alberta) to pique my interest, as it had been for “Alaska Daily,” a sadly short-lived 2022 ABC series with Hilary Swank and Secwépemc actor Grace Dove as reporters looking into overlooked cases of murdered and missing Indigenous women. This may go back to my affection for “Northern Exposure” (set in Alaska, filmed in Washington state), with its storybook town and colorful characters, most of whom came from somewhere else, with Rob Morrow’s New York doctor the fish out of water; “Men in Trees” (filmed in British Columbia, set in Alaska) sent Anne Heche’s New York relationship coach down a similar trail. “Lilyhammer,” another favorite and the first “exclusive” Netflix series, found Steven Van Zandt as an American mobster in witness protection in a Norwegian small town; there was a ton of snow in that show.

It serves the fantastic and supernatural as well. The polar episodes of “His Dark Materials” and “Monarch: Legacy of Monsters,” the icebound sailing ships of “The Terror” live large in my mind; and there’s no denying the spooky, claustrophobic power of “Night Country,” the fourth season of “True Detective,” which begins on the night of the last sunset for six months, its fictional town an oasis of light in a desert of black. In another key, “North of North,” another remote small town comedy, set in Canada’s northernmost territory among the Indigenous Inuit people is one of my best-loved shows of 2025.

But the allure of the north is nothing new. Jack London’s Yukon-set “White Fang” and “The Call of the Wild” — which became an Animal Planet series for a season in 2000 — entranced readers back around the turn of the 19th century and are still being read today.

Of course, any setting can be exotic if it’s unfamiliar. (And invisible if it’s not, or annoying — if snow is a thing you have to shovel off your walk, its charm evaporates.) Every environment suggests or shapes the stories that are set there; even were the plots identical, a mystery set in Amarillo, for example, would play differently than one set in Duluth or Lafayette.

I’ll take Alaska.

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Macron visits Greenland in solidarity amid Trump designs on Arctic island | Donald Trump News

The French president says his US counterpart’s Greenland takeover threats are not something allies do.

French President Emmanuel Macron has arrived in Greenland with a “message of solidarity and friendship” from Europe and castigated United States President Donald Trump’s repeated threats that he intends to take control of the strategic autonomous Danish territory as not “something to be done between allies”.

Macron reiterated his condemnation on Sunday at the Arctic island’s Nuuk airport, where he was greeted by Danish Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen and Greenland Prime Minister Jens-Frederik Nielsen.

“It’s important to show that Denmark and Europe are committed to this territory, which has very high strategic stakes and whose territorial integrity must be respected,” Macron added.

“It means a lot to me … to convey a message of friendship and solidarity from France and the European Union to help this territory face the different challenges: economic development, education, as well as the consequences of climate change,” he continued.

‘Not for sale’

Since returning to the office in January, Trump has repeatedly said the US needs Greenland, a strategically located territory at the crossroads of the Atlantic and the Arctic, for security reasons and has not ruled out taking the territory by force.

However, Denmark has vehemently stressed that Greenland “is not for sale”.

Macron, who is the first foreign head of state to visit Greenland since Trump’s threats, said in a speech last week at the United Nations Ocean Conference that Greenland and the deep seas were not “up for grabs”.

US Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth appeared to acknowledge that the Pentagon had developed plans to take over Greenland and Panama by force, if necessary, last week.

The Wall Street Journal reported last month that several high-ranking officials under the director of national intelligence, Tulsi Gabbard, had been ordered to investigate Greenland’s independence movement and US resource extraction in the territory.

But in Greenland, polls indicate that the vast majority of the country’s 57,000 inhabitants may want to become independent from Denmark, but they do not want to join the US.

While Greenland is not part of the EU, it is on the bloc’s list of Overseas Countries and Territories (OCTs).

During Macron’s six-hour visit before he travels to Canada for a Group of Seven meeting that Trump is also expected to attend, he plans to discuss Arctic security and ways to include Greenland in “European action” to contribute to its development while “respecting its sovereignty”, his office said.

Following talks with Frederiksen and Nielsen, Macron is also set to visit a glacier to witness the effects of global warming.

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