My son has simply come again from his first ski journey. Watching clips on his telephone I can hear the crunch below his boots and the swish of skis as they lower via the snow. My creativeness provides what footage and sound can’t – the contemporary coldness of the air because it fills your lungs, the biting wind that stings your cheeks. I need to be there. I’m a chionophile, a lover of chilly climate, of snow, of winter. When others are moaning, I really feel at my greatest.
I’ve taken this to extremes. Though I’m not an intrepid traveller, I preserve going again to the Arctic. The primary time I used to be frightened of how I might cope, of falling on ice, of not having the ability to tolerate the form of climate that freezes your cell phone and makes your arms burn, even inside essentially the most technologically superior gloves.
On that journey I went line fishing for cod off the north-west coast of Norway and, after two hours, needed to make use of a form of mindfulness to tolerate the chilly. It’s not simple being in this type of atmosphere – it’s a must to gown in layers, so each stroll or boat journey takes time to arrange for, and also you want boots that grip on floor as icy as a skating rink.
It’s exhausting work, however you’re feeling utterly engaged with the world and, as you peel layers off if you’re again indoors, exhilarated. A bowl of chunky soup or a heat cinnamon bun looks like the very best factor you’ve ever eaten. After I returned from that first journey, I felt intensely alive, as if I’d had an enormous shot of adrenalin. It lasted for weeks.