Free Four Quarters of Light by Brian Keenan

was about to say, but realized it was useless as Dan had already fortified my steaming mug. Instead of returning the bottle to the table he packed it into an ex-army canvas bag, informing me that we might need it later. I was too unsure of what was happening to ask anything except where the bathroom was. Nerves always activate my bladder at the most inconvenient times, but I was hoping that Dan would not realize the cause of my urgent need. If he did he didn’t show it; instead he remarked how dogs have to do their business on the run while we two-legged creatures are a bit more fussy. He pointed to a small shed about ten or twenty feet from the cabin with the words, ‘Can’t put much plumbing in the permafrost, you’ll have to take us as you find us.’ Feigning macho indifference I replied that I had been in some shitters in my time so nothing would surprise me. Dan passed me a roll of toilet paper, explaining that he didn’t read many newspapers so he didn’t keep a ready supply for the ‘bathroom’, he said, mocking the use of the word. He concluded with the remark that it was always better not to be carrying more weight than is necessary.
    I returned from Dan’s primitive amenity, which was little more than a few planks of broad timber with a hole cut in them and an even bigger hole underneath them. As I re-entered the cabin I placed the toilet roll near the kitchen counter but was too shy to ask about hand-washing facilities, having already convinced myself that real men would shun this, and anyway, in a place with no plumbing water was not to be wasted on such trivial matters. I could have saved my embarrassment. Dan had already gone outside again to put the final touches to our sleighs. I still wasn’t surewhat he was planning but felt I needed to confess some anxiety on my part.
    â€˜I wasn’t really serious about doing it blindfolded, you know,’ I said, half sheepishly.
    Dan continued to make further adjustments to the two teams’ harnesses. ‘Didn’t think you were, but we still get a few hours of night light up here. It’s the best time to see the country. No snow glare from the sun and the moon lights up the place in its own peculiar way. Now, listen.’ He ushered me over to the team of six. For a few moments he rehearsed what he had already explained about using my foot as a brake and leaning on the turns. ‘Remember, you have no ballast on board, which makes the sleigh very light, so you are going to have to create your own traction. You are travelling over the snow, not through it, and don’t forget this.’ He placed the small anchor within easy reach. ‘Now, don’t lose it.’ It was his final command.
    He manoeuvred his team in a direct line in front of my sleigh. ‘We’ll take the first few miles easy so you can get a feel of it, but remember, save the sight-seeing until we stop and you’ll do okay.’
    Dan lifted his anchor and was about to set off when I called out, ‘How do you get them to turn?’
    Dan stood still for a few moments trying to make out what I had said from behind my muffled mouth. ‘Gee for the left and haw to turn right, that’s all you need to know, but call it out clearly and repeat it until the lead dog begins to turn.’
    â€˜What about stop?’ I asked, my panic rising.
    â€˜Don’t worry, they’ll stop when I do.’
    Dan suddenly remembered something, fumbled around in his sleigh, then turned and threw something in my direction. It landed at my feet. On retrieving it I saw it was a headlamp like the type you see cave explorers wearing as they climb through their gloomy enclosures. ‘Don’t put it on in case you lose it,’ Dan said. ‘It’s only for emergencies, in case we get separated. There’s also a whistle in your breast pocket for the same purpose.’ And with no more fuss, Dan called out to his lead dog,