Wild Skating in Sweden - Test 1

C1 Advanced · Gapped Text · C1 Advanced Trainer 2, Cambridge University Press

You are going to read a magazine article about skating on frozen lakes. Six paragraphs have been removed from the article. Choose from the paragraphs A–G the one which fits each gap (1–6). There is one extra paragraph which you do not need to use.

Wild Skating in Sweden

Skating has evolved in other ways as well. While skaters were once advised to carry a fireman’s ladder and a rope in case of emergency, we were kitted out with a rope in a bag, a rucksack that doubled as a floatation device, and two safety ‘ice nails’.

I’d expected to come across other skaters who would tell us where to find it. However, it was only on the third day, a Saturday, when we finally saw any other skaters out on the lakes. They were weekend day-trippers and we just glided past crying ‘Hej hej!’

All that physical exercise also gave us an appetite. Although the cost of food was included in the trip, we decided to visit a nearby supermarket to gather cuts of reindeer meat, fish fillets and other ingredients. We cooked together, and packed our daily lunches.

That was the extent of my experience too. The idea for the trip had come when I was doing some research on the late 18th century. I’d read how the industrial revolution led to the development of steel skates, and how wild skating had been popular all over northern Europe.

This strange peace was suddenly broken by what sounded like thunder beneath our feet. I tensed, and the skaters behind me shrieked. But, as we’d been told, a loud ‘boom’ isn’t necessarily bad: it can tell you the ice is thick. It’s the beautiful-sounding ‘singing’ ice that’s the thin, scary stuff.

By the fourth day, however, I had the hang of it, along with basic wild skating techniques. The skates are longer than those for figure skating or hockey, extending beyond the front and back of the foot. Also, you push sideways more, and with fewer movements, than in other skating.

Such changes affect your speed and route. We snaked across large lakes, looking out for cracks, small ridges and water holes. Our guides stabbed their sticks into the ice, testing its depth. We stuck to ice that was between 10 cm and 15 cm thick, though 5 cm would still be adequate.

Over four days and 125 km of ‘wild’ skating in south-east Sweden, I learned that skating on natural ice is full of contradictions of this kind. I learned to be attentive, not so much to the setting – the forested shores of the lakes didn’t vary much – but to noises coming from the ice, and its colour and texture. One day it was covered in a layer of water; the next it had a light dusting of snow.

On the first day, my group were briefed on safety precautions like this, and then skated 10 km for practice. On the subsequent days, we covered up to 40 km, in two-hour spurts, before stopping to refuel with bread, cheese and salami. As dusk fell, we returned to our two minibuses, parked by what in summer are wild swimming areas. The region has hundreds of lakes and every day we drove out from our base in search of the best ice.

Not that skating is an inherently unsociable activity. Our guides were very friendly, as were the other people in my group. These included Singaporean ice-hockey enthusiasts, a Spanish fan of figure skating, seasoned German and English skiers and a French roller-blader. There was also an Australian who’d only been skating on a public ice rink.

This is difficult to imagine nowadays. Warmer temperatures mean that rivers in Britain, France and Germany rarely freeze solidly enough for wild skating to be feasible on them, and it’s only in the Scandinavian countries that it’s possible to skate regularly on natural ice.

In Sweden, these are a legal requirement: if you fall through into the water, you drive them into the ice and haul yourself out. Fortunately, no one in my group ever had to do that. In fact, probably the trickiest part of being on the ice was bending down to clip the blades on to the boots without falling over. I must admit I needed help with this at first.

The trip ended with me having one more lesson on what you can do on ice. As the sun went down, our guides built and lit a fire and started roasting marshmallows. The heat from the fire rises, so it doesn’t burn a hole in the ice. As I sat on the frozen lake with my muscles aching, I felt oddly cosy and relaxed; yet another intriguing contradiction in that icy setting.

The setting sun was reflected on the frozen lake as we skated under the watchful gaze of our guides, Björn and Jan. The profound silence was only interrupted by the noise of our skates gliding and scratching across Ösjön Lake. Even animal sightings were rare in this isolated landscape, though we passed tree trunks gnawed by beavers. ___ Over four days and 125 km of ‘wild’ skating in south-east Sweden, I learned that skating on natural ice is full of contradictions of this kind. I learned to be attentive, not so much to the setting – the forested shores of the lakes didn’t vary much – but to noises coming from the ice, and its colour and texture. One day it was covered in a layer of water; the next it had a light dusting of snow. ___ On the first day, my group were briefed on safety precautions like this, and then skated 10 km for practice. On the subsequent days, we covered up to 40 km, in two-hour spurts, before stopping to refuel with bread, cheese and salami. As dusk fell, we returned to our two minibuses, parked by what in summer are wild swimming areas. The region has hundreds of lakes and every day we drove out from our base in search of the best ice. ___ Not that skating is an inherently unsociable activity. Our guides were very friendly, as were the other people in my group. These included Singaporean ice-hockey enthusiasts, a Spanish fan of figure skating, seasoned German and English skiers and a French roller-blader. There was also an Australian who’d only been skating on a public ice rink. ___ This is difficult to imagine nowadays. Warmer temperatures mean that rivers in Britain, France and Germany rarely freeze solidly enough for wild skating to be feasible on them, and it’s only in the Scandinavian countries that it’s possible to skate regularly on natural ice. ___ In Sweden, these are a legal requirement: if you fall through into the water, you drive them into the ice and haul yourself out. Fortunately, no one in my group ever had to do that. In fact, probably the trickiest part of being on the ice was bending down to clip the blades on to the boots without falling over. I must admit I needed help with this at first. ___ The trip ended with me having one more lesson on what you can do on ice. As the sun went down, our guides built and lit a fire and started roasting marshmallows. The heat from the fire rises, so it doesn’t burn a hole in the ice. As I sat on the frozen lake with my muscles aching, I felt oddly cosy and relaxed; yet another intriguing contradiction in that icy setting.

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