Taking a man from the southernmost part of Sweden,or even one from SecondLife, out in the middle of the night on a sled drawn by a team of six Siberian Huskies for 90 minutes in a temperature of -37 degrees Celsius (thats -34,6 on the Fahrenheit scale) and even colder out on the mires is nothing less than attempted murder.
As you see by this post I survived the foul plans and am still here. I hear some of the Swedes whispering among themselves "Nåja, ont krut förgås inte så lätt!" which literally means "Well, evil gun powder does not perish so easily!" but the meanings is really something like "weed isn't killed so easy"
...but the night was magical, the light from the almost full moon on the snow expanses was magical and the silence was magical, everything was in fact magical even the occasional smell of dog poop, everything except for my toes slowly starting to die... but the tinkling feeling when they came alive and the blood started to pump into them was also magical.
All in all I would do it again, with two additional pairs of socks on top of the three pairs I was already wearing.
