Melting Mountains - Rising Temperatures in Lapland

A herd of reindeer trekking across Lapland, the traditional land of the Sámi. The animals know exactly where they're going. They're following ancient migration routes to their calving grounds in the valley. But here in the Arctic Circle, temperatures are rising rapidly, and these free-range reindeer The biggest challenge is winter. First there's heavy snow, then rain, then it ices over, making it impossible for the reindeer to get to the lichen, the basis of their natural diet. Reindeer are resourceful. They can dig up food two meters below the surface, as long as they can easily remove the snow. But in the last 20 years, the weather conditions in winter have become unpredictable. One year there was a ton of snow. The next year it rained and was warm. That was followed by a normal winter. It's different every year. Nature is off-kilter. A herd attempts to cross the ice, but the ice isn't strong enough. An adult reindeer goes under. Lapland's traditional spring floods occur as early as November. This bridge is destroyed as a result. A man shovels snow in shorts. One day there's snowfall and minus 20 degree temperatures, and the next day there's a thaw. Reindeer cover great distances when they roam. In Swedish Lapland, part of the region the indigenous Sámi call Sápmi, reindeer often bring traffic to a standstill, even on the European route E10, which passes through Kiruna. The area is home to some 300,000 reindeer, owned exclusively by Sámi. Lars Ole Jannok is feeding the one-year-olds. Reindeer are hardy creatures, but if they weren't fed extra moss and lichen every day, they'd no longer survive the winters here. The indigenous Sámi were struggling even before climate change began complicating their lives. And it seems some neighbors would even be happy if the reindeer died out. Recently, when Lars Ole Jannok was relocating his herd, a car stopped. The driver yelled at me from about 20 meters away, if you let your reindeer roam here, we'll shoot them. How aggressive, I thought. His parting shot was, if I run into one of you reindeer herders alone in the forest, it'll be your turn. Reindeer shootings are common. The owners get a small compensation, but these incidents are always unsettling. We're used to racism. My father used to take all kinds of abuse, especially here close to the big mines in Kiruna and Jellivare. But since the Girjas case, the hates got even worse. It took 10 years to resolve the Girjas case, which revolved around hunting and fishing rights on this land. The area of approximately 5,000 square kilometers stretches from Kiruna to the Norwegian border. It's almost always blanketed in snow. But for the indigenous Sámi people and their reindeer, it's home. In the end, the Supreme Court of Sweden ruled in their favor. The Sámi flag at the Ofalás, a farm with Icelandic horses that's been around for 25 years. But a closer look reveals that some of these horses have humps, a bit like camels. They're actually elk that are spending the winter at the farm after harsh weather and six meters of snow left them unable to find food. The farm owner wouldn't have dreamed of turning them away. This is his land and his responsibility. Matti Blindberg fought over the hunting and fishing rights to it for a decade and welcomed the Supreme Court judgment. We've been living here since the Scandinavian ice retreated. We live with and from our reindeer. Archaeologists appeared as witnesses in the trial against the Swedish state about hunting and fishing rights. They said it's hard to find evidence of another people that treat their resources as respectfully and carefully. Matti Blindberg traveled 1,000 kilometers to the court in Sweden. In Stockholm, where the case was argued, he was joined by Malin Brändström, a Sámi reindeer herder and lawyer. The state says it is the formal owner of the land and has the right to issue hunting and fishing licenses. But the Sámi say these were our rights before the state came to be. But a lot more was at stake than hunting and fishing rights. The case brought into sharp focus Sweden's attitudes towards its indigenous people. The traditional region of the Sámi is rich in resources, such as ore, timber, wind power and hydropower. So, of course, the state wants to profit. Marie Heidenborg represented the Swedish state in the lawsuit. The way the Sámi use the land is hard to reconcile with today's demand for wind turbines, mining and also tourism. There is frequent conflict. That's why it's important to clarify the rights issue. For the Sámi, it was an historic moment. Their rights to their own land were finally acknowledged by the Supreme Court. In the past, these nomadic indigenous people have had little to celebrate. They've had to watch their land be claimed by new roads, mines and wind turbines. People are increasingly realizing it can't go on like this. The forests are being chopped down and natural resources plundered. It's not only a problem for the Sámi, but for the whole world. We're destroying the planet we live on. Humans are strange predators. They're destroying themselves. The Kaliks River is one of just a few free-flowing rivers in Sweden teeming with salmon. Matti Blinberg doesn't want to see any weirs and dams outside his front door, nor wind turbines in the distance. He sees these industrial incursions into nature as green colonialism. He doesn't understand why they have to be here, so far removed from where the consumers are. Jokkmokk in the Arctic region is the Sámi's unofficial capital. Once a year, a line forms at the town's only cash dispenser on the first weekend of February, when the winter market takes place. The traditional Jokkmokk market has been held annually for more than four centuries. In the wake of the ruling, the mood among the Sámi is celebratory. And Sweden's royal couple has come to visit. A gesture of respect for the indigenous people who have lived here for millennia, long before Sweden became a monarchy. Jokkmokk Elementary School's welcoming committee was visibly nervous to begin with. But King Carl XVI Gustaf, himself a grandfather, soon put the children at ease. Gather round, everyone. Everyone happy? Come on, it's cold. Let's go in. Time then for story hour with the king. Queen Silvia wore a traditional Sámi dress, one that she'd been presented with nearly three decades prior, on her first visit to the area. When the anthem of the Sámi was performed, the royals stood. They seemed to enjoy the visit. And the king pulled out all the stops. Green for what grows, blue for the water, yellow for the sun, and red for fire, warmth and love. The colors of the Sámi flag. Although the king didn't go on about the cold, he clearly wasn't immune to the chill of minus 13 degrees. It's been colder here before. I'm wearing this lovely dress, but obviously something over it too. You learn how to cope with the cold over time, especially from the Sámi. You can learn from indigenous people. We should listen to them, and not just in Sweden. The couple ended their visit with a stroll through the market. No doubt a pleasant change from the formality of their usual engagements. For the locals, the visit was a welcome gesture of support. They want to protect their region from exploitation. It's an advantage to have the royals on one side. One day later, there was a Fridays for Future gathering in the Arctic Circle. Climate activist Greta Thunberg came to meet with the Sámi, and she said to learn from them. But first, they listened to her. We're in the middle of an acute environmental and climate crisis. 19 of the last 20 years were the hottest since records began. In Sweden, the average temperature in January was 5 to 10 degrees higher than it used to be. The crowd that came to see Greta Thunberg was almost as big as the one for Queen Sylvia. Everyone was eager to catch a glimpse of the young woman who didn't mince her words with Donald Trump. But she didn't want to hog the limelight, and made sure that local activists also got a chance to speak. In the Arctic, we witness what's happening first. It happens faster here. Indigenous peoples are leading the fight against the climate crisis, and they are often the ones who are hit the hardest and the most. And they are leading the fight against it. So, of course, it's very connected. Raised Fists — an unusual sight here in the Arctic Circle. The temperatures may be rising, but the region remains a cold one. There are still days when the temperature falls to minus 38 degrees. The iron ore line from Kiruna to Narvik still runs regularly. And between trains, reindeer crisscross the tracks. They're everywhere here, even trotting along the roads, trailed by buses, enjoying their right of way. But even in Lapland, winter comes to an end. It can take just days for all the snow to melt away. It's midsummer, and this group is on its way to the mountains by foot, laden with massive bundles of fabric. Similar ventures have taken place in the Alps, although those were made by helicopter. But that uses a lot of fuel. They're headed to Sweden's southernmost glacier, where they plan to install a fabric sheet to protect the ice from the sun and prevent further melt of the Helags Glacier. One month later. The glacier is 500 meters wide and 50 meters thick, but shrinking all the time. At this time of year, the sun shines for 16 hours a day. The sheet is barely visible to the naked eye. Mountain guide Erik Thor points it out. There's a crack up there, and then if you look along the edge of the snow to the right, where it goes downwards, there's a white sheet. Two meters of ice have melted around it. The goal was to render the glacial melt visible. How much longer can the glacier last? How many more years does it have? Sadly, it will be gone by the time I'm 50, in about 30 years. Unless we extend the project and protect the glacier in winter, so it makes it through the summers. The plight of the Alps glacier continues. The melt of the Helags is well known. More and more people want to see it before it's too late. In late September, the sunshield is packed away. Nothing is left behind. Everyone involved is a volunteer. No one is paid. The idea of protecting the glacier with a sheet was devised by Erik Hus and a friend who's an expert on glaciers. It was a disaster up here. It had been a very warm summer, and the glacier had melted a lot. The frame for the sheet collapsed. But ultimately, it managed to protect three to four meters of ice. The team rolls up the fabric and begins the trek home, first up the mountain to a hiking trail, then down to the valley, until next year, when they'll do it all again. The Aka Jaura is among the largest reservoirs in northern Europe. Viktoria Harnesk never thought she'd get to take a dip in it. A few years ago, she and her son Nila came looking for a spot where they could build a house. Ever since she was a child, she's come every summer to the Laponian area, where only the Sami live. This is no ordinary lake. It's used for power generation, so its depth fluctuates by up to two dozen meters, depending on demand. When lots of people in Stockholm are using their washing machines, for example, the water level goes down. The Sami are compensated, but it's a source of resentment. Anyone who wants to build a house here at the foot of the Aka Mountain, which means old woman in the local Sami language, must be aware that the banks are unstable. We're looking for somewhere to build a house. It's beautiful here, and many people would like to live by the water. But you can't. The water level is low right now, but next week it could shoot up again to there. Victoria Harnesk and her son choose a spot well up the slope. Five years later, the house is ready. There's still no running water and electricity. But Victoria Harnesk's husband, Mika, has brought along some solar collectors. She admits there is one plus side to the rising temperatures. In the past, taking a dip in the lake would have been unthinkable. No one swam in it. But this summer was so unusually warm that we managed to go in for ten minutes. You could never have done that before. You can tell how cold it is from the color of the water. It looks green. That's how it looks when it comes directly from the glacier. Summer is drawing to a close, giving way to autumn. In mid-September, the area around Kebnekaisa, Sweden's highest mountain, is covered with cloudberries, turning it golden yellow. Gunhild Linus Rosqvist served as director of the Tarfala Research Station for about 20 years. She made international news after drawing attention to the mountain's rapidly melting glacier. Decades of rising temperatures greatly reduced the height of its southern peak. It even lost its status as the country's highest peak. The Sami tend to say no to everything that poses a threat to them, whether it's forestry, mines or wind energy. But they have no evidence to back up their position. Which is what we scientists can provide. Decades earlier, she was a scientist collecting samples daily from the glacier for her boss. Eight years ago, she began working together with local reindeer herders, a mutually beneficial relationship. Reindeer herders are deeply knowledgeable about nature, while researchers have technical know-how. Today, the science has progressed, and the Sami and their reindeer are key research partners. Our research now has a practical application. The Sami have attached GPS collars to their reindeer, and we give data on snow levels and record their migration patterns. All the data is collated, and we're learning together. Autumn in Ammarnäs. The first frost has arrived. Time to bring the reindeer herds to the valley. The reindeer ate well during the summer months in the mountains. Every autumn, the Sami take stock of their herds. Here in Västerbotten, the calves are being counted. This is how it's always been done. And yet, not everything is the same. Sami lawyer Malin Brändström knows a site like this is becoming rarer. Even here in these wide-open landscapes, space is running out. There's less room these days. Reindeer herding is dying out. There are just too many opponents. Reindeer herding is almost impossible these days. Except for a few kept alive to breed, male reindeer generally get to live for just six months now. The population needs to be reduced. The state wants to cap their numbers. The Sami must slaughter more animals than they'd like to. But more and more land is needed to make way for roads and wind turbines. It's difficult to see how these large-scale wind farms can coexist with our reindeer herds. It's a big industry. It's edging us out. The Swedish coast, 230 kilometers to the east. Reindeer wander about on the road, a common sight at this time of year. Markbugden is a huge wind farm and flagship project in Europe. It supplies eight percent of the country's electricity, and it's set to grow. One day there will be 1,101 turbines here. When we first got approval to construct Markbugden, the tallest turbines were 200 meters. Now they're 250 meters and higher. Soon they'll be as high as 300 meters, as big as the Eiffel Tower. Conditions at that height are ideal. It's an international project. Funding comes from China, the rotors from Germany and the U.S. One of the project's main clients plans to manufacture drinking cans with the electricity. At ground level, the turbines are surprisingly quiet. Just recently, the press spokesman made an unexpected discovery while giving a group a tour. We found 20 reindeer dozing underneath a rotor. In general, wild animals like to camp out underneath turbines. There are fewer insects and mosquitoes. But only a third of the rotors are in place. Constructing this gigantic wind farm means thousands of heavy trucks on the road. It's no place for reindeer, especially in spring, when they have their young with them. The mother reindeer are no fans of people or construction noise. There are two phases. In the construction phase, there's a lot of machinery in operation. That's hard to put up with. And then the operating phase. That's when it's quieter again. Ten years ago, the local Sami reindeer herders received financial compensation. The official amount was not disclosed. Back at Ammarnäs, night is falling and the reindeer are still being rounded up. The Sami now have the sole right to decide whether others should be able to hunt and fish in their area. But worries remain. And the biggest is climate change. It's insane. It's like a broken thermostat. Sometimes it's too hot, then it's too cold. Then there are storms, too. It's dramatic and unprecedented. The Sami are faced with a dilemma. They're being asked to give up land in order to prevent further climate change. They think others should be making sacrifices, too. We all have to get back to basics. What nature can give us, that's what we need to concentrate on, instead of plundering it. Her nephew, Karl-Johan Utzi, is a reindeer herder and a professional cameraman who documents Sami culture and traditions. He's lost hope about the future of free-range reindeer herding. He believes he'll be the last in his family to do it. It depends what you mean by reindeer herding. For me, it's not reindeer herding if you buy feed and give it to the animals all winter, the way they do in many parts of Finland. Like with cattle, horses and pigs. Reindeer herding is based on the animals being able to move freely in nature and find their own food. And that's going to be very difficult in the future. It would be tragic if reindeer herding and Sami traditions were to die out, with only wind turbines and industry left in their wake. An incalculable loss for this rugged, beautiful part of Sweden.