Time is short however, and after grabbing a few portraits of Swedes about to launch themselves downhill ( not for me, I like my femur just as it is ) we prepare to head back to London. In 12 hours I shall be circling the M25.

On the skilift we are the only people going down so I hide behind the camera to avoid the stares. See if you can spot the above-piste snogging.

The 405th Jokkmokk winter market ( and my sixth shoot ) was certainly worth the effort but it did have one important drawback. Unlike previous trips no shots were prearranged and almost everyone we photographed was much too busy to stop and chat. From this point of view it was perhaps not so rewarding but I did enjoy seeing the Sami out in force and come away knowing that they are now properly represented in my project. Patience is now the order of the day as I wait for the film to be processed.

Thomas Marainen is a Yoika ( at least I think that’s the word ). His new album may not yet be on itunes but I have managed to bag a copy of his first album of Yoiks which are traditional Sami songs usually sung unaccompanied. To the uninitiated non-Sami speaker ( as of course I am ) a Yoik seems a little repetitious. Give it a whirl though, you might just like it.

Thomas Marainen. Same net mihkkal.

His wife Randi makes beautiful silver jewelry ( sometimes for the Crown princess ) and kindly posed outside in her wonderful traditional dress.

Vildhasse ( self proclaimed ‘ Wild Hasse ‘ ) claims to have the only Nordic sausage museum ( please comment if you know otherwise ). He seems to speak in parables and makes a living selling sausages and other ‘ mountain products ‘ . See his website. His beard is home to half a kilo of ice ( it is minus 28 celsius after all ) and I make a mental note to grow mine even longer for the next trip.

Today is national Sami day celebrated to coincide with the opening of the first Sami national congress in 1917. I join the crowd to see the singing of the Sami national anthem but not before we have been warmed up by a popular rendition of the Jokkmokk-rock.

Those familiar with John Redwood’s painful rendition of the Welsh national anthem will see parallels here.

Our 11am rendezvous with Tommy was only just kept after a hectic start to the day. Saturday is the final and busiest day of the market ( 18,000 visitors in a town with a population of 3,000 ) so I thought it prudent to get all my stall shots before 10.30. Tommy is one of those magical men ( he has a long beard, of course ) you seem to find in the North. For many years he lived out in the forest with thirty dogs but now busies himself with sculpting, smithing and helping children with behavioural problems. I photograph him with a snow sculpture he made for a children’s play area and delights in watching them clamber around it.

On my previous trip to Jokkmokk I photographed a painter called Lars Pirak. He was in poor health but still gave us a couple of hours of his time and was both interesting and charming. One of his prints hangs in my office ( a picture of his Grandfather out hunting bear ) and is much enjoyed. It was unsurprising but sad to hear that he died late in 2008. Today we visited his former home to see an exhibition of his work and chatted with his son and daughter in law. It seems in a last flourish of creative energy Lars produced many new paintings to add to his legacy as one of the most important artists of the North.

One character who stood out at the market was Gunnar Kuoljok who was part of a recruiting team for the Swedish ‘ Dad’s army ‘. Men with guns usually make me nervous but Gunnar was not that kind of man.

The day ended at the Coop, in search of Birgitta and her fellow Christians. I was lucky to meet them just as they were setting out their stall but had to wait for a few dance routines to end before I could get a group portrait. Accompanying the dancing ladies was an engaging Iraqi preacher from Mosul in Iraq. The dancing is apparently Yiddish inspired and despite my not sharing some of the opinions of the good ladies I did feel like joining them for a twirl.

The winter market in Jokkmokk is just stirring when we arrive. We talk to Kristen who is beautifully adorned in traditional Sami dress and arrange to drop by later to take her portrait. Later turns out to be a bad time as she is surrounded by an arc of camera wielding tourists and poor Kristen is grinning hard. I offer her my snappy camera and suggests she photographs the tourists but she is too polite and declines.

Stefan lounges on a wooden chair surrounded by his kills, now brought back to ‘life’ in various climbing, flying, crawling ( and growling ) poses. He is a man of few words.

Drinking coffee in the Sami cafe we unsuccessfully try to solicit a Sami woman for a picture but instead strike up a conversation with Tommy who is an artist living in Jokkmokk. We will meet him tomorrow by his snow sculpture of an imagined animal.

Tommy knows Anders. Anders is a Life on the line hero, photographed sitting at his table next to his bear. Tommy is here, and it seems is the bear. The bear doesn’t remember me ( he sees lots of people ) but I admit that I’m pleased to see him.

More deceased animals ( there is a theme here ). Karl-Erik has invented a fox trap that snares the unsuspecting animal without injury  ( so he can be dispatched unharmed ). His hat is interesting.

The market is now busy, artisinal crafts sit side by side with mass produced tat. Indoors ( in the warm ) is the Sami art show. Here there is more integrity and we find two sitters for tomorrow morning. A passing wolf-wearer is conscripted.

Further encounters and conversations. Sweden is ( in an experts view ) sadly not a creator of fine sausages. The curator of the finest museum on the arctic circle will be given my card ( I hope ). The cold gets the better of me and those German heated seats beckon but a visit to the supermarket is required before heading south. Here, outside the Coop, we bump into Brigitte ( or rather she reverses into me ). Zero insurance excess keeps me relaxed and the only damage is the dealer nameplate which is lying sadly in snow. I mistake the brightly coloured clothing of Brigette and Ina for Sami but I am soon put right. Jesus it seems is coming back soon and my new friends have been singing the message outside the supermarket. I wave off the damage and am hugged within an inch of my life by new friends before a five minute guide to redemption  ( while Martin gets in the cheese ). We will meet at 11am tomorrow for a portrait ( and salvation ).