The rest of the day was mostly snowmobiling, though by now we could stand up on our machines, and dive about, a lot like James Bond. The triumph would have been tempered if we'd noticed that we could all do it, even the most pathetic of us - however, we'd broken each other's tail lights the day before, so it was like being all alone in a land of white, the most daring snowmobilist the world has ever seen. That was, in fact, more cool than seeing the Northern Lights, which were fun mainly for the poetic effect they had on Bjorn ("I come up here alone to watch, yet I never feel lonely, because there is so much in nature to fascinate. Listen to the perfect silence," he said. I listened. "Who's nicked my Snickers?" was the only sound, for miles around.) And on the final day, we reached the top of the world, in time for two hours of a perfectly pink sun, which turned the snow pink, and yea, made the whole world look like a picture of heaven, drawn by a five-year-old girl.