Guardian: Its cold. Minus 10, 12 perhaps, and getting dark; the butter-fingers of a rising moon evident on the eastern horizon. Ill-equipped (the forecasts were for minus five), my ears start to hurt, and I pull in my hood. By the time you read this it will be colder still. And there are still no reindeer to be seen.
Olav hands me his binoculars and tells me to focus on a hillside about three miles away across the snowy vastness of Norways Forollhogna National Park, a tract of ancient, ice-scoured mountains...