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chapter one
Arctic awakening it’s 6am on 14 march 2009. A tiny single-engine plane sits on the runway at Tromsø airport like a giant frozen insect half-heartedly rousing itself for flight. The carriage shudders as the propeller gathers speed. But after a few minutes of noise and vibration the blades slow again to a disappointing standstill. Moments later the same build-up sets the seat belt buckles rattling and the little Cessna almost lurches forward. Once again, the engine whine peaks and fades and the blades falter to a full stop. Inside, I find myself thinking of balsa wood, sweet-smelling, near-drinkable white glue and model aircraft. What has this got to do with hutting in Scotland? Bear with me. I’m on a week’s trip round Norway arranged by the ever- helpful Norwegian Consul in Scotland, Mona Røhne. It’s meant to end in the ‘Arctic Capital’ Tromsø, but the relative proximity of the world’s northernmost town is hard to resist. Especially since plucky, utterly remote Hammerfest has strong connections with my mum’s home town of Wick. Both like-sized small towns sit in the north of their respective countries. Both were once major fishing ports. But Arctic Hammerfest is now a thriving hub of world-beating, renewable technology that may yet extract energy from Scotland’s fastest-flowing waters, 15 miles from struggling Wick. In 2009, Hammerfest Strøm announced plans to build turbines ultimately destined for the Pentland Firth. Hammerfest’s population then was just 9,000 – slightly larger than Wick. And while the impact of ice ages means settlement in Caithness clearly preceded Hammerfest, it’s pretty clear which North Sea sibling is the Big Sister now. So this small Arctic hop is irresistible. But the plane still isn’t moving. Scanning my three sleeping fellow passengers, I peer from
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