Christmas is coming...
Nov 10 2007 By Our Correspondent, Huddersfield Daily Examiner
IT was a call that came right out of the blue. Santa, it seemed, wanted a chat. Would I care to join him for a berry juice?
We'd met a couple of years ago in Lapland as he made his famous list, checking out who'd been naughty and nice.
It was an invitation impossible to pass up, even if it meant trekking high into the Arctic Circle by husky sled, reindeer sleigh and snowmobile.
After a trip to stock up on thermal undies and winter woollies, the quest began.
THURSDAY
Land at Rovaniemi Airport in Finland. From here it was a two-hour drive through the darkness to our staging post in the Lapland ski resort of Salla.
At the moment it's just -10ºC, something of a heatwave in an area where temperatures have been known to sink to minus fifty.
On arrival in Salla, a mysterious figure dances briefly in the headlights and hurls snowballs at us. "That will be Tricky Dicky," says our Lappish guide Hella mysteriously.
Apparently, Tricky Dicky is one of Santa's favourite elves and is not to be trusted. The old man has other elven pals, too: Snowy Bowy, Speedy Sam and Noisy Nod.
FRIDAY
Kitted out in Arctic survival gear that makes us look like Michelin men, we feast on rice cakes and yoghurt at Hotelli Revontuli, a favoured haunt of skiers and winter sports adventurers. The search for Santa begins in earnest.
At Temppupaja, we're told Santa has recently been seen. Venturing into the forest, we chance upon a wooden cabin where small, elf-like people are busy sorting Christmas mail.
Outside, there are hitching points for reindeer. The names Dancer and
Prancer figure among them, so we must be on the right track. .
Suddenly, there's a commotion as Santa appears in the cabin window. I step forward to renew our acquaintance but the familiar figure magically transforms into the cackling Tricky Dicky. We've been had.
Undeterred, we set off across the frozen Lake Onkamojarvi on two-man sledges. "See the trees on the other side," says Hella. "That's Russia. It's so close we pop over the border to fill up with petrol."
At this time of year the ice covering the lake is 50cm thick, but there are fears that global warming is already seeing a slow thaw.
We arrive at Tahtikuta, only to see Santa driving away in the distance. We've just missed him.
In hot pursuit, we transfer to reindeer-drawn sleigh. They're friendly creatures, as long as you don't invade their space unexpectedly and, boy,
can they move!
No wonder Santa gets round so many homes each Christmas. It could also be because he's weary of bearded Noisy Nod, who strolls round our campfire, loudly ringing a handbell.
After a warming meal, we reach frozen Hantivaara. There's a need for speed because night is falling. At this time of year there are only two hours of daylight or rather greylight – (it never gets bright in Lapland).
We clamber on to snowmobiles, and set off across a wide expanse of open land between the forests.
They're tricky to handle at first, but we soon get their measure. We're faster even than Speedy Sam, the fleet-footed elf who has appeared to give us news of the latest sighting of the Boss.
The chill air is full of yelping, barking and howling as we reach Tuohenlusikka, where we ask the owner of a husky farm if he's seen our quarry. Sadly, he hasn't.
After a hearty meal of flounder with spinach, we mount snowmobiles again and search fruitlessly in the night, stopping only to share berry juice with a passing bear hunter.
SATURDAY
We're ushered into a small wooden hut at Porocamp, where we're met by a Lappish shaman, who chants in a ululating tone while banging on a tribal skin drum. One by one, he marks our noses with charcoal from the fire. But of our elusive friend, he can offer no clue. Santa, it seems, is missing.
We rush through the snow with a fresh team of huskies led by faithful Mishka.
The chase is on. We've seen Noisy Nod and Tricky Dicky again so Santa can't be far away. At Hangasjarvi we take to skidoos and race across the frozen surface of the lake, headlights blazing in the encroaching gloom.
2.30pm: At last! A confirmed sighting. We're joined by eager children who've heard that Santa lives up on the Ruuhintunturi fells – and Christmas Eve is only a short time away.
We board a snow-train convoy of sledges pulled by skidoos. Wrapped in reindeer hides, we climb and climb into the mist.
Eventually, we spot presents dropped by Speedy Sam in his hurry. It can surely only be a matter of time.
Then, there it is, a light burning in a forest clearing. As we draw closer we find it's a log cabin, and a peek through the windows reveals a workshop filled with wooden and tin toys being manufactured by rosy-cheeked elves.
The heavy wooden door opens and a voice booms out. "Come in, come in and make yourselves comfortable."
Santa tugs at his long white beard, hitches up his belt and reaches out to shake our hands. "I am so glad that you are here. I want you to tell all the children in
Britain that I am looking forward to seeing them on Christmas Eve, even if they are all asleep.
Now, have you been naughty or nice . . . . . . . . . .?"
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