Our plane nosed down through a layer of ice fog and shuddered hard, as if at the sudden view: a mist-shredded scrap of forest, all but buried in snow. “Welcome to the Arctic,” the pilot said, as we bumped along a runway of ice and packed powder.
It was the end of January, and we had arrived in Kiruna, the northernmost town in Sweden, 100 miles above the Arctic Circle. Around us, snow-clad forest spread away for 1,50,000 square miles. Squalls shook the cabin as we taxied. The storm was out of the north-northeast, and I tried to picture where that wind had recently been: a strip of Finland, a ribbon of Norway, the Barents Sea, and, before that, probably the polar ice cap. Brrr.
We had been travelling from…