Tag Archives: Sami

Wild Running

Blog, In Darkness and In Light, Life in Norway, , ,

Sunrise/sunset: 07:51/17:14 Daylength: 9hr23min

I want to start with a quick update on a couple of things. Several people have asked me about the guinea pigs, so I guess I missed out on saying that Bowen, who cut my lawn throughout the summer, agreed to take them for his children. Bowen is from a farming background and is very good with animals, so I have no doubt they are being well cared for.

And earlier in the week, Kaj surprised me in asking whether he could buy the car. We have agreed a price and he will take it over on the last day before I leave. I was slightly nervous until yesterday as he hadn’t driven the car yet, but he took it out for a spin while I was in the meeting and seemed to be very satisfied. I can honestly say that I am delighted. Not only is it extremely convenient for me to have the car right up until the last moment, I also like both Kaj and the car well enough for me to be glad they will be taking lots of road trips together.

Yesterday was like some kind of dream, though it began with a nightmarish tone. I got into work and opened an e-mail from Hilde that asked about a case document that’s been sitting in my inbox for months. I had made some limited moves to follow it up, and had asked for some help, but should have asked for more, rather than naively believing it was something that it was all in hand. Actions should have been taken when it came in and weren’t and that was down to me. There was another case too that had gone wrong. Not entirely my fault this time, but there were things I should have done that again, I forgot. I am rationally aware that I am no longer fully functional, yet on another level, I don’t feel incapacitated enough to take sick leave. Hilde is fortunately so level headed that she is cheerfully dealing with everything, without seemingly allocating blame or changing her opinion of me as a reasonably competent person. That in itself, feels like a miracle.

But from a poor start, the day quickly improved. Some of Konstantin’s old colleagues from Latvia had arranged to visit the abattoir. Konstantin and I spent a few hours last week organising a program for them, which included a tour of the laboratory where they test samples of meat for various bacteria and parasites, a presentation from the Health and Safety Lead, a trip into the big hall where the carcases are skinned and cleaned, and a tour of the lairage, where the live animals are kept. Hilde came too, to welcome the visitors and to tell them a little about Mattilsynet. There was a lot of interesting discussion, ranging from the domestic animal population on Svalbard (almost a thousand dogs, but few other animals, in order to protect the unique environment) to how border control with Russia had changed as a result of recent hostilities.

As well as the official visit to the abattoir, Konstantin had arranged with a local Sami acquaintance to take a trip to see reindeer afterwards. I was due to work on the sheep line yesterday. Ingrid filled in for me while I was in the meeting, but I was expected to take over from her when the visitors left. I had hoped that the sheep line would be finished early enough for me to go with them to see the reindeer, but by the time they were due to leave, there were still too many sheep left. As Ernestas and I went to the line, we met Konstantin in the corridor and I regretfully told him that I wouldn’t be able to go.

However, I had reckoned without the generosity of Vaidotas and Ernestas. Having heard my exchange with Konstantin, Ernestas accosted Vaidotas when he arrived on the line to relieve me half an hour later. Between them, the urged me to go and say goodbye to the reindeer while I had the chance.

By the time I was ready, almost an hour had passed since Konstantin had left, but I drove out to Andsvatn where the reindeer had been gathered, hoping that I would still catch up with the party. When I pulled up, I couldn’t see Konstantin’s car, but there was a big people carrier there, so I thought they might have all come together. I couldn’t, however, see anyone. There were a few reindeer on the far side of a high fence, through a big, securely tied wooden gate. Konstantin had told me that Per Mathis (who owns the small, family run reindeer abattoir) had told him that visitors were fine, so long as they closed the gates, but this one was so heavy and so securely tied, that I knew I didn’t want to attempt it.

Just as I was about to get back in my car, another car drew up and a woman got out. I asked her whether she knew if Konstantin was still here and explained he and I worked at Mattilsynet and sometimes did meat inspection at Andsvatn. She didn’t know, but assured me someone else would be along shortly, who might know, and sure enough, within a couple of minutes, a youngish man arrived on a snowmobile. He told me that he had no idea if they were still there, but that if I walked round to the back of the building we were parked beside and followed the snowmobile tracks up the hill, I would probably find them, if they were.

By this time, another woman had arrived with her daughter. She had a rucksack with her, which she rearranged and filled with provisions while I watched and I wondered whether she was going to stop the night somewhere. She and I spoke a little, but I found it hard to understand her, or more specifically, what she was referring to. Still, she seemed to know where she was going and seemed happy enough for me to tag along behind them. We walked up the hill together, her with her snow poles and me in my natty red suede boots, that probably were not designed for trudging along snowy trails, but which fortunately had enough grip to serve me well.

It was a beautiful sunny day, and though they were distant, I could see reindeer in all directions. Many of them were on the move and they were calling to one another – a kind of guttural grunting that sounded primeval under the wonderful blue sky. I felt as if I was entering a kind of dream like state, such was my delight at seeing and hearing these wonderful animals. I was also aware that this was something I was unlikely to experience again, so I was taking my time, drinking it all in.

As we walked over the brow of a hill, there was a fence in front of us. Behind it, a few reindeer ran past and then a few minutes later, a couple more. There were reindeer in the field where we were walking too, but still they were distant and I found myself hoping that we would be able to get closer. The tracks turned left here and we followed them between two fences, where there were a few snowmobiles parked. A black and brown dog watched us from one of them, but made no move as we passed. Beyond them, I could see a high wooden fence with a door. And now there were reindeer much closer.

We reached the door in the fence and it opened. The woman and her daughter walked in and I followed them through. To my amazement, I found myself inside a high-walled wooden corral. There were people there, some working, some watching, as well as a few reindeer, though as I looked around, there was no sign of Konstantin and his visitors. Some of the men were wearing traditional Sami dress, brightly coloured tunics and hats with intricate embroidered patterns. Others were wearing traditional Norwegian woollen sweaters, blue with red and white patterns over the shoulders and top of the chest. An older woman wore a brightly coloured fur hat with small flag-like embroidered projections. Unlike me, everyone else was dressed suitably for the temperature.

There was a moment, a long time ago, when my parents lived in the north of Scotland. A friend visited me in the summer holiday and we decided to walk to the local pub, half an hour away. We pushed open the door to the bar, which was filled with people and chatter, and stood there as the voices dropped away and every eye in the pub turned our way. It wasn’t quite that bad, because many people in the corral were working and the reindeer were circling, but the feeling of being an unexpected stranger was not dissimilar. Everyone else here probably knew who everyone else was. Per Mathis might have recognised me, and perhaps one or two others, but I really didn’t know any of the men I worked with two years ago well enough to talk to or recognise, and anyway, they were busy.

But as I looked round, to my enormous relief, I saw a friendly face. Merete who works as a technician at the abattoir was there. She has been off for a long time with a shoulder injury and I had half expected that I wouldn’t see her again, but there she was, opening and closing the gate one handedly, a part of this wonderful extended family scene.

And so I stood a while and watched as the reindeer were sorted. The traditional Sami method for identifying reindeer is to cut nicks in their ears in different places. Each family has a distinctive pattern, though the reindeer’s ears were so furry that it seemed remarkable that they could see which reindeer were theirs and then capture them as they circled past.

Having caught an animal by the antlers, they would tug them over to one of several gates around the corral, each of which led to a different field. Some were injected with wormer, some were marked on their rumps or their legs, and then they were allowed to go. When there were only a few animals left, a gate was opened and the remainder rushed through. Another, bigger gate on the far side was opened. Some of the workers went out , selected another group, isolated them from the herd with a huge tarpaulin that they stretched out between them, and guided the new group into the corral.

And now there were so many reindeer that I could have reached out and touched them as they passed. How beautiful they were, and how wild, with their wary eyes and velvet antlers. I could feel a deep happiness building inside of me, that I was having the honour of witnessing this wonderful gathering. I began to notice other details, like the lavvo – a traditional wigwam-like sami tent – on the far side outside the corral. There must have been a fire inside as there was wood smoke rising from the centre of the canvas roof. There was frost beginning to nip my fingers, but I stood there entranced as the reindeer flowed past me, circling round the corral as they probably have done for hundreds of years.

But as the animals were sorted, and the number in the corral dwindled, I began to feel the chill of minus three entering my bones. Merete had gone away to find some entertainment for her toddler godson and there was no sign that she was coming back. Straightening up, I opened the door I hade come in through, stepped back outside the corral and began to make my way back down the hill. I hadn’t taken any photographs inside. This was a family gathering, and not my family. But I took a few photos as I walked back, though as always, when photographing wild(ish) animals, I regretted not having a camera with a zoom lens.

Still, despite the lack of photographs, I hope I have done enough to paint you a picture of what I recognise was one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences: one that was all the better for being unexpected.

That wonderful feeling of deep happiness is something that will stay with me for a long time.

Mørketid

Blog, In Darkness and In Light, Life in Norway, , , , , ,

Sunrise/sunset: Down all day.

So here I am in my second Polar Night. Mørketid is the Norwegian name, which I love. A direct translation would be Darkness Time and the word “mørke” must have a common ancestry with the English word “murky” which seems appropriate. Not that it’s dark all day, of course. You can start to see twilight by half past eight in the morning, but by two in the afternoon, the light is fading again. In between, if it isn’t cloudy, there is this wonderful clear blue light that makes for very unusual photographs.

Icy road on the way home from Storslett

Coronavirus seems to be closing in again, with omicron making appearances all over Europe. Norway seems to be sticking to the plan of keeping everything as open as possible for those inside the country, though the rules for entry have been strengthened again. Our Mattilsynet Troms og Svalbard departmental gathering was this week on Thursday and Friday, and I was delighted when it went ahead. I guess when I say “department” most people might be thinking of a traditional business department, probably made up of lots of people who use the same building, but our “department” is diverse, and also very spread out.

We cover the whole of Troms and Svalbard, although there are no permanent staff on Svalbard. Troms is a county that is round twenty percent larger than Wales (a bit bigger than New Jersey for anyone checking in from the US, or Nova Scotia if you’re in Canada). We cover everything from animal welfare to drinking water, from three separate offices in Finnsnes, Tromsø and Storslett and this year’s gathering was in Storslett, which is the furthest north.

There was some discussion a couple of weeks ago about cars. We have three lease-hire cars available, and Øivind and Ronny quickly signed up two of them. Marit, who works with fish health and welfare then signed up the third, with another colleague, Eva, and designated it the “kvinnebil” or women’s car. So that was the one I signed up for, and despite Thomas’ suggestion that he too should travel in the kvinnebil, Eva, Marit and I drove up together. It was lovely getting to know them better.

Marit and Eva on the journey home

I’m not all that fond of meetings, and meetings in Norwegian are even more of a challenge, especially when those from the upper echelons begin to introduce buzzwords, like “sustainability” (bærekraft). But one thing Norwegians do very well is social events, and this meeting was no exception. We had received a cryptic message a few days earlier, telling us to bring warm clothes for sitting outside: clothes that, in addition, could stand some wood smoke. Though this sounded appealing to me, I was slightly concerned. Such an instruction could mean anything from sitting round a campfire roasting hot dogs to a five kilometre hike in the snow. I could handle either of those things, but they do require slightly different outfits.

In the event, it was a five minute walk along the road to a Sami lavvo (a wigwam type tent) where there was locally produced gløg, along with traditional dried meats, cheeses and flatbread, all served in candle-light around a huge wood fire. I’m not sure how local the grapes and olives are, but it was really very tasty indeed.

I’ve already included a couple of pictures of the return journey. Marit drove, so I was able to take a few photographs along the way, before the darkness descended again.

We took a short detour onto the Spåkenes Peninsula, where we found a very chilly bench as well as some glass igloos with an amazing view, which you can stay in overnight. Obviously I immediately added doing so onto my “to do” list.

There will be another advent update tomorrow, with more pictures from the trip, so goodbye for now. I hope you all have a lovely weekend.

Wild Rover

Blog, In Darkness and In Light, Life in Norway, Vet, , , , ,

Sunrise/sunset: 03:29/ 22:04. Daylength: 18hr 35mins

I drove home from Storslett on Friday last week, but not before taking a photograph of fish hanging outside to dry. Birgit and I were inspecting a goat herd and another flock of sheep, and on the way I finally spotted some racks that were in use. Norwegian stockfish is dried cod, usually of the prime seasonal Arctic variety that is called skrei. It hangs outside between February and May and has been a traditional foodstuff and an export since Viking times. It is the main ingredient in the Italian dish Bacalao. John and I saw much bigger drying racks last summer as we drove through Lofoten, but as that was in August, there were no fish back then. So having spotted these on the way, I asked Birgit to stop on the way back and I ran along the road, hopped over the barrier and staggered down a grassy bank to get a picture.

I took a couple of photos of the mountains as well. It is such a beautiful area and the mountain tops were decked with fluffy white clouds.

By the time I got home, the false spring weather had disappeared. Anna and I went for a walk on Senja on Saturday. There were a couple of reindeer standing in a field and we stopped to take a rather distant photo. Though the grass isn’t growing vigorously yet, I have seen other reindeer taking advantage of the temporarily uncovered pastures this week while driving around.

One of our favourite walks starts beside a school and Anna spotted some skis standing in a rack on the side of the building, so I took some pictures of them and the bike rack that is currently not in use. Outdoor living and exercise is very much encouraged and embraced here, whatever the weather.

On Tuesday I worked the early shift at the abattoir. It’s much easier driving over at 5am now it’s light. It was a particularly beautiful sunrise on Tuesday and I paused on the empty road to take a picture.

On Wednesday, with Birgit’s (long distance) help, I finished the course work and the report for the inspections I mentioned in Across the Lyngen Fjord. On Thursday morning there was a summing up meeting. On Thursday afternoon, having finished my homework for the week, I was free to turn my attention to my e-mails. Most of my e-mails contain information about meetings or outbreaks of controlled diseases, but now and then I am sent fascinating updates on the complicated interplay between large predators and domesticated and semi-domesticated animals in Norway.

In the past fifty years, there has been a movement from culling to preservation of species such as bears, wolverine, lynx, wolves and golden eagles. Wonderful as that is, it does have an impact and the Norwegian government have to work with farmers and herders to try to ensure balance.

Most of the domesticated animals such as sheep and cattle, are kept on pastures near to a farm. If they are moved, they go in lorries. Though some sheep (and especially lambs) are taken by predators, in general it is possible to keep the protected predator wildlife areas and farming regions separate. But the situation is much more complicated when it comes to reindeer.

Reindeer herding in Norway is carried out by Sami people using a mixture of traditional and modern methods. The reindeer are semi-domesticated: they are not fenced in, but are moved around to different pastures, depending on the season, food availability and the weather. Unfortunately, some of the important grazing areas, that have been used for thousands of years, overlap with some of the priority areas where there are targets set for these predatory animals.

The political situation is particularly difficult as there continues to be a lot of tension between the Sami and the Norwegian government. Until relatively recently, strong attempts were made to enforce integration into the more modern Norwegian lifestyle, but the creation of a Sami parliament in 1989 and the recognition of the language and way of life has not removed all conflict. Traditional herding methods are not only affected by predators, but by roadbuilding, property development and even wind farms. The grazing areas are mostly in land that is considered to be “state owned” but if that is land that your people have been using for more than a thousand years, I feel it is unreasonable to expect a full acceptance of that claim of ownership.

Anyway, back to the report. Apparently, lynx, wolverine and golden eagles are the biggest predatory threat to reindeer in Norway. Information from NINA, the Norwegian Institute for Nature Research shows that the wolverine diet is 95% reindeer and lynx 65%. Some of the herders report many of their calves are taken, sometimes up to 75% of the years progeny. And because of the nomadic lifestyle, it is not only direct predation that can be problematic.

In January this year, a herd of up to two hundred reindeer took fright when they were being moved and it was strongly suspected that this was triggered by predators. Instead of travelling safely to their winter pasture, they headed up into the mountains. The terrain was frozen and largely impassable, and of course there was no grazing. A small group of them returned, but without their calves. Eventually a helicopter was arranged so the herders could get an overview and the herd was recovered, but there’s no doubt that these predators, alongside climate change, have a huge impact on traditional ways of life.

Regular readers might also be interested to hear an update on the female bear with a taste for lamb and mutton that I mentioned in the very first blog post I wrote when I started work here (Piece of Cake). It was too late last year to move the mother bear to a different area where there were no sheep. Now they are waiting to see whether the bear is pregnant and/or whether she will emerge from hibernation with yearling cubs.

Though moving her might prove to be a long term (or even impossible) project, other solutions are also sought. One of the farmers who reported the greatest losses has been granted funds to restructure and he will change from farming sheep to beef cattle. The farmers who lose animals are compensated for their losses, but of course the picture isn’t simply one of monetary cost.

One of the focuses of the report was on the animal welfare issues caused by the hunting of domesticated animals by these predators. In general, domesticated animals are kept safe from that type of harm. The idea that living in nature is some kind of idyllic haven for animals is overly simplistic.

I will finish up with a couple of photographs taken yesterday. The days are now very long and light, but after a week or two of rapid melting, the snow has returned. In the middle of the day, when the sun is high, it is so bright as to be almost unbearable. I really must buy some sunglasses! These pictures were taken at seven fifteen in the morning and at eleven forty five in the evening. Twenty four hour sunlight (and hopefully summer) is just around the corner.