It’s the end of May in Inari — and
the ice hasn’t quite disappeared. The average annual temperature
here isn’t much above freezing point. In Europe’s far north,
primeval forests still exist. The trees are small,
gnarled, and supple. Petri Mattus is on his way
through this old-growth forest. If it weren’t for him, these trees would
have been cleared many years ago. Lumber companies
had their eye on them back before the first
big protest action in Inari. This is what a healthy
forest here looks like, with reindeer calves
roaming about. Reindeer mothers spend their
last two weeks in enclosed areas before giving birth. A couple were just
born yesterday evening. I’m going to earmark
them — like there is one. I catch them and put
my earmarker on them. Then I open that gate and
they go back to freedom. Petri Mattus likes that his animals
have an appetite for freedom. They develop better —
and don’t cost him much. He’s grateful to the forest
that sustains his animals. This is about two
hours old. Not very old. Every family of reindeer herders
has its own distinctive ear marker. The procedure doesn’t
appear entirely painless. The mom is coming over there.
It’s recognized its own baby’s sound. And it’s amazing. When you listen to it, they sound the
same, but they recognize their babies. As you see, there’s no blood. Only sometimes if they
start doing something like this. So you don’t think it
hurts them very much? No, I don’t think
so because it’s not... like the ladies they
put the earrings in. Old-growth forests are woodlands
that have not been significantly disturbed by human activity. And
these could be left untouched; after all, there’s enough timber
elsewhere in northern Europe. The lichen hanging on the
branches serves a special function. What’s felled here takes a
very long time to grow back. As you see, these are old trees.
These are four or five hundred years old. There’s this black lichen on the
trees that reindeer can eat in the winter. It’s not only on the trees — because when it’s windy,
there’s a lot of snow on the trees. As you see there is black
lichen also on the land. And it’s coming
on top of the snow — and you can eat this if there’s a
lot of snow and the snow is hard. Without this forest, the reindeer
would struggle to get through the winter. Luckily, the herders have
received international help. Greenpeace came
here and helped us. They told the biggest company
who buys Finnish paper that the Sami people and
the Sami reindeer herders, they have a problem
with this forest cutting because this old
forest is really important. In Finland, authorities were ignoring
Petri Mattus and his fellow herders. Then, Greenpeace raised
the possibility of a boycott. That was back in 2003. A large cargo ship had
been docking each week in the northern German city of Lübeck
with timber from Finland’s vast forests. Its cargo turned
out to have come from some of Europe’s last
remaining primeval forests. The supply chain could
be traced back to Inari. This timber was destined
to be turned into toilet paper or glossy magazines in Germany. In Inari, a small delegation
of traditional reindeer herders was waiting to show evidence of
fresh felling. They didn’t need to go far. This tree was a few
hundred years old, as far as Outi Jääskö
could tell from the rings without using a magnifying glass — that’s how close the
rings were together. The state forestry authority has
promised to protect certain areas. But they are felling trees elsewhere.
As a result, the forest is disappearing. The Indigenous Sami are
known to be rather reserved — and not just in front of the
camera. But this was the last straw. At five on Friday, the sounds of logging no longer
rang out in the ancient forest. Getting hold of footage of
loggers at work wasn’t easy. This is Outi Jääskö twenty
years later in the same forest that was due to be cut down. For many years now, she’s been teaching
young people how to look after reindeer. And she has six
grandchildren of her own. The forest as it was inherited from
our ancestors, it’s our inheritance — even if the land is
owned by the state. Well, it’s home. Who would
sell his home for money? As she talks, she slips
into her role as grandmother. I was going to say that one thing I
would be doing in a forest like this without something like work to do,
would be to play with my grandchildren. So, how? Look there’s a hole in
that tree, there must be a bird in it. And look how big that tree is.
Can you reach your hands round it? And so on. And look, who
lives in that hole under that tree? For the Sami, the forest is
a door to the natural world and a look back into their past. Do you know it was your grand,
grand, grandfather who cut this tree. In this archival footage, Kalevi
Padar shows the way to a spot where the first snow had
covered the signs of fresh felling. Ten years earlier, the
state-owned forestry company had cut down a few trees
here but left many standing. They didn’t even tell us beforehand.
They just sent in a forest harvester. The remains will
be cleared with fires. There won’t be anything left for
reindeer here for dozens of years. The winter in Lapland, or Sapmi as it’s
called by the Indigenous Sami people, starts at the end of September. That’s when things start to get tough
for the reindeer that roam free here. Finding food is a struggle. Twenty years later: There’s
been no further logging here. And the European Union is keeping
a watchful eye that it stays that way. For Sami reindeer herder Kalevi
Padar that remains a triumph, but not one that
he boasts about. The Sami often face defeat in
their conflicts with the authorities. Back then, their cause
was helped by the fact that major German publishers
began refusing to buy timber from the ancient forests here. When Kalevi Padar walks through
the forest, he doesn’t just see the trees. He always has his reindeer
and their needs in mind — spotting things many
others might miss. This small lichen grows on birches
— vital when there’s nothing else. And it takes time for
new lichen to grow back. Longer than a human lifespan,
he says. More like a century. Back then, they stopped
clear-cutting. And we didn’t let up. There were more campaigns. And
that’s why it’s been quiet here for years. You can see it — we don’t need to
keep our animals in enclosures any more. They can roam freely through
the woods — even in winter. And then he looks
out over the land... He knows that a big mining
company wants to look for ore here. As soon as one threat is averted,
the next appears on the horizon. But he refuses to give up. Our journey continues
in northern Europe. From Inari in Finland, we will head
to the forests just across the border from Muonio — and then on to
Iggejaure in Swedish Lapland. Our journey will end in
Norway in Kautokeino. At first glance Sweden
looks like one big forest. No other European
country has so many trees. They cover close to
three-quarters of its land mass. But the gaps become more
visible, the further north you go. In many places, it looks
more like a lunar landscape — such as here close to Muonio, on the border between
Sweden and Finland, nearly 200 kilometers
above the Arctic Circle. Environmental activist
Karolina Carlsson blames Swedish timber companies. Greenpeace put signs
up that read: Do not cut! When you drive around here, you
see one clear-cut area after another. And as for what they’ve
replanted... It bears no comparison. All the trees are the same age
— and are planted in long rows. This is a very aggressive
type of forestry management. These are tree
plantations, not forests. We can see what the
environmental activist is talking about 40
kilometers further south. In other countries, individual
trees tend to be selected for felling. In Sweden, it’s more industrial. Clear-cutting is a
very rigid system. Everything — and I mean
everything — is felled and removed. Thirty to forty years later, they
thin out what they’ve planted. This works in opposition to
nature, rather than in harmony with it. A single forestry worker in a
harvester can clear as much forest as two dozen loggers
could in the past. The machines' enormous
tires leave behind packed soil and deep ruts in the ground. It’s no surprise that it takes many
years for anything to grow back. Here, too, there were plans
to clear huge areas of forest belonging to Sweden’s state-owned
forestry company Sveaskog. But as in Inari, reindeer herders
and environmental activists joined forces to stop
it from going ahead — with patrols and
months-long demonstrations. The company — with its upscale
headquarters in downtown Stockholm — ultimately gave in to the pressure —
and the man at the helm bowed out. We meet the new
CEO, Erik Brandsma. In our interview, he accepts
that mistakes were made. We previously haven’t managed
that conflict in an optimal way. There have been situations where
we have not advanced the possibilities for the reindeer herders
to practice their profession. Back to the forests
owned by Sveaskog. Four thousand reindeer roam in
the Muonio Sami herding district on the border with Finland. In
summer, there’s enough food for them. And in the autumn, the semi-wild
animals like to eat mushrooms. We meet Hans Holma, the chairman of
the local reindeer herding cooperative. Does he believe the forestry
company’s new promises? At the moment, he says,
no logging is taking place. And he hopes it will stay that
way. It’s high time, he adds. Of course, we hope
that things will improve, that there will be a new course. Erik
Brandsma has come to see us up here. But to be honest,
it’s 30 years too late. Most of the old-growth
forests have disappeared. Winter in Lapland
is a tough time — and the changing climate
and erratic weather patterns are making conditions even tougher.
Hans Holma has prepared as best he can. He regularly gives his
herds supplementary food. Lichen contains carbohydrates. In March and April, that’s often all
the animals have to eat in the wild. We sort of have to decrease
the volumes we take out. If we want to have lichens in
place, if we want to create corridors, create shelter and protection for
the reindeer during the whole year. This has, of course, an impact. At least for now, there’s peace. The “do not cut!” signs
are being taken down. We’ve saved about 150
trees or so in 13 forest areas. These are trees that Sveaskog
was going to cut down. Will the trees now have to
do without your protection? Yes. Now it’s up to Sveaskog. Our colleagues from Greenpeace
seem to sort of have enough trust at the moment that they left the
area and are focusing on other issues. And I think that’s a good sign. Spend their evenings
somewhere else. Yeah. The Swedish forestry company
is also taking concrete steps. Sveaskog has announced a 20
percent cut in future annual felling. Lake Iggejaure is in a forest
near Arjeplog in Swedish Lapland. The Luokta-Mávas
reindeer cooperative takes its animals
here to graze in winter. Sveaskog was going to log
here, too, but so far hasn’t Reindeer herder Brita-Stina
Sjaggo leads us into her forest, but it’s not actually hers. It’s owned by others, who can
do pretty much what they want. In Sweden, you can
cut down everything — except for what’s around the Stone
Age encampments of our ancestors. The forest harvesters aren’t
allowed to directly encroach on them. Since time immemorial,
the forests around Iggejaure have served as winter
pasture for the reindeer. Archaeologists can confirm that. This was probably the site of a fire
pit and a traditional Sami tent, a Kota. The traces we’ve
left behind are subtle. With a trained eye, all
you can see is a stone. The forestry industry has changed
all that within just one generation. The intervention has
changed the entire landscape. The trees have been felled and
everything’s turned upside down. A forest that has grown over one
thousand years just disappears. The longer you
spend with the Sami, the more you come to see the
world and the forest through their eyes. At first glance, this
lodgepole pine plantation is just a dry coniferous forest
that’s been very densely planted. But for Brita-Stina
Sjaggo, it’s deeply troubling. This is the worst kind of tree
when it comes to reindeer herding. It’s an invasive species
from North America. It’s been widely planted
here on our winter pastures. These trees have lots of needles,
which thickly carpet the forest floor. It’s an alien body.
It acts like a barrier. The reindeer avoid
these plantations. Sveaskog has now stopped
planting pinus contorta, its Latin name. While it grows 40 percent
faster than other pine species, it’s a lot more
vulnerable to high winds. It also blocks
out a lot of light. You can see how it
stunts other forest growth, just by looking
at this little tree. It’s 26 or 27 years
old, but it’s still so small because the contorta pine
has taken away its light. If Brita-Stina Sjaggo
could wish for any house, perhaps it would be this one
here, with its panoramic views. But it has a drawback. The entire land
around the house belongs to the state. And Sveaskog is responsible
for managing this land. There may be a truce for now, but if you tend to think in
centuries like the Sami people, just the thought of
clear-cutting is hard to bear. And how long
will the peace last? Maybe Sveaskog hasn’t
changed its ways that much... That is Iggejaure, the lake. Sveaskog plans to log the
whole area around the lake. An old Sami woman
used to live here. She was almost 90
and she sold her house because she couldn’t
cope with clearing the snow. A German IT expert bought it.
He lives here for part of the year. I told him last year
what might happen — that Sveaskog could clearcut
the land right around the house. He was very
disappointed and outraged. Right now, it’s still possible
to walk through the woodland to get to the water. And what would a lunchbreak in
the forest be without a campfire — started with the
help of birch bark. It has the advantage of
burning when its damp. Then there’s spring
water, drunk out of a cup made from the thicker part of a
tree where there was a knot hole... ...and a battered coffee pot that
has obviously seen many a campfire. We’re in an old pine
forest that isn’t too dense. There’s lichen on the forest
floor and hanging from the trees. The Sami would like to see
this kind of forest everywhere. But for decades, Sveaskog
has been felling all trees that reach a certain age. What’s
left is a patchwork of primeval forest. Only 15 percent is left of the entire
old forest. The rest has been cut down. What’s left are little islands —
oases that aren’t connected. And these small areas of ancient
forest are, of course, especially precious. At the moment, there aren’t any
animals grazing in the lakeside forest. They’re still in the
highlands, the Swedish Fjäll. The reindeer eat what they can find
there: Grasses, bushes, mushrooms. In late spring, Brita-Stina
Sjaggo‘s reindeer intuitively find their way to the higher ground and
back to the valley where they were born. In late autumn, their sense
of orientation takes them back to their winter grazing
pastures, to Iggejaure. It would be ideal if the animals
could actually find food here and the cooperative didn’t
have to buy commercial fodder to get them through the winter. But there’s just not enough
in these desolate woods. After hearing all that, you might think
that Sveaskog CEO Erik Brandsma would be well-advised
to come here, too, if he really wants to
restore faith in his company. We’re headed now to Kautokeino. One day,
it could look like this across Lapland... if the forest can no
longer provide enough food due to unpredictable weather
patterns and invasive species. These are scenes from Norway and the ancestral home of
the Indigenous Sami people. Reindeer actually don’t like
getting too close to humans. Especially pregnant animals. We’ve reached northern Norway... Reindeer have been living
here from time immemorial, more or less independently. But now more and more
of them need to be fed. The old people said: The
reindeer are going to feed me. I’m not going to feed the
reindeer. But now it’s the opposite. Now we have to
feed the reindeer. There’s a frenzy when father and
daughter open the sacks of food. The fodder is made from local
grass and compressed in the factory. This is the result of climate
change. We need to feed them. You can see they are in good shape.
Because we feed them all the winter. Here, you can see the fate that
might be awaiting other regions. The Arctic is warming four times
faster than the rest of the world. You can see the
reindeer behind you. 90% of those
are pregnant females. In spring, May, they will get
one calf each, if we are lucky. Meanwhile, word has gotten
out about the free lunch. A reindeer from a neighboring
cooperative has snuck in. Property is sacred here. Giving back
a stray animal is a matter of honor. The reindeer gets tied up like a parcel
for the journey back to its own herd. Then the reindeer
herder explains... Look at the
reindeer’s right ear... it has a different
pattern than our reindeer. If the old-growth
forests could be saved, then these reindeer would have
a chance of continued freedom, and of surviving in the
wilderness. Surely, it’s worth a try. The entire forest — gone. Cut
down against our will. It feels unjust. And what will
become of the wood? 80% of it will
be used up very quickly. Most of it will be
turned into paper.
