Some holidays are meant to take you out of the comfort zone. Even so, as someone who hates the cold and spends three months every year shivering in cashmere socks, I have to admit that a three-day trip to Norwegian Lapland in January - when the sun never even grazes the horizon - sounded a little daunting.

On the other hand, I love snow, I've always wanted to see the northern lights, and Anouchka, my 14-year-old daughter, has dreamt of dog-sledding ever since she was tiny.

Kirkenes is a former mining town at the northern tip of Norway. Only 16 miles (25km) from the Russian border, it's farther north than the Arctic Circle and farther east than Istanbul. The town, though modern, has a frontier atmosphere, with wooden houses spread out along the Bøkfjord, a narrow arm of the Barents Sea. The people are friendly - and tourist activity is refreshingly low-key.

Our hotel on the first night is the Rica Kirkenes, a cheery, unpretentious place. We have brought warm clothing with us, of course, but much of what we need is provided, including thermal over-suits and the lightest, warmest snow boots I've ever worn.

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The snow here is light and powdery; it's cold, certainly, but there's nothing like physical activity to warm you up.

Our first outing is on to the fjord. A two-man team called Arctic Adventure run fishing, scuba-diving, whale-watching and wildlife safaris from their log cabin by the water's edge, and today, for us, king crab-hunting in the Barents Sea. These enormous crabs are plentiful enough to ensure that while visitors enjoy the view or swim, Lars, one of our hosts, is able to collect enough for a wonderful meal, prepared on the spot and ready in less than 20 minutes.

The fresh crabs are cooked in seawater, and served with no accompaniment but lemon, bread and a glass of white wine. They are delicious and, although we are ravenous, there is more than enough to satisfy everyone.

Locals refer to this part of the year as “the blue time”, when the sun lies permanently below the horizon. Fortunately, this doesn't mean perpetual night. The mornings are bright enough to take in the glorious countryside. Still, by 1.30pm, it's pitch black, which means that our next trip, dog-sledding in the Pasvik Valley, with Trine from Birk Husky, will take place in almost total darkness.

I begin to wonder what I've let myself in for. I know very little about dog-sledding, and had vaguely imagined that I would be sitting in the sled, Snow-Queen fashion, while someone else did the steering. The reality is very different. Our guide, Trine, the friendly, capable woman who runs Birk Husky, makes it clear that this is a hands-on experience.

The fun, she says, is not only to drive the sled, but also to harness and care for the dogs. Well, I've never cared very much for dogs. I'm more of a cat-person, really. And I'm not at all reassured at the idea of speeding through the woods on a sledge with nothing but a head-torch to light the way. Still, I've left the comfort zone behind, and I'm determined at least to give it a try.

The sleds are small and low on the ground, and the dogs - there are six on my sled - are tough little Arctic huskies that clearly know the route through the woods, but seem unaware that this is my first sledding experience. I am utterly terrified.

Ten minutes after setting out, I'm still half out of my mind with fear, but at least I've discovered the brake. Twenty minutes later, I'm having the time of my life, and when we arrive at Trine's cabin in the woods I'm exhilarated. Anouchka has done well, too, even though she is not quite strong enough to bring the dogs to a halt, and we're both rather pleased with ourselves.

While Trine lights the fire for the evening meal, we share the other responsibilities. There is no central heating or running water in the cabin, and water has to be collected in buckets from the frozen river. The huskies, too, need to be unharnessed, fed and chained in their kennels. By the time all this is done (a strenuous hour or so), Trine has prepared food, started a fire in the little sauna house near by, and I've decided that maybe I am a dog-person after all.

Facilities are basic, but functional; the cabin, with its wood-burner, is warm and comfortable, and there is a sleeping area with bunks to house at least eight people. Outside, the night sky is clear and beautiful; no northern lights, but you can see the Milky Way clearly along with a multitude of shooting stars. During the night I'm sure I hear wolves howling in the distance.

In the morning, after harnessing the huskies to their sleds, we drive back towards Kirkenes. This time it's light enough in the early red glow to spot elk and reindeer in the woods, and to enjoy the beautiful scenery. Although my shoulders are aching from the drive and there are icicles on my nose, it's terrific fun, and Anouchka and I wish we could stay longer.

The comfort zone seems far less attractive to us now - which is good, because our last night in Kirkenes will be spent, not in the Rica or even in Trine's cosy cabin, but in the famous snow hotel, where everything, including the beds, is made of snow and ice.

By now Anouchka and I feel ready for almost anything. After a hair-raising snow-scooter session through the darkening woods, during which I indulge my inner Jeremy Clarkson and just manage not to tip over, we make our way to the snow hotel, where, fortunately, the kitchens aren't made of snow, and we enjoy a generous meal of pancakes and sausages grilled over an open fire, while preparing ourselves for a chilly night.

We are warned by the hotel manager, a cheery, tough-looking woman named Anne, that this experience isn't for everyone. You need a sense of humour, she says, as well as a sense of adventure. There is no running water and no bathroom (the toilet block is 100 yards away, and consists of what Anne calls a “long drop”). Guests sleep in their thermals inside polar sleeping bags provided by the hotel, with gloves and balaclavas to avoid frostbite.

By the time Anouchka and I are ready for bed, we look like sleepy bank robbers, and neither of us can keep a straight face.

The hotel is still under construction, but is already breathtakingly gorgeous, like an igloo crossed with the Taj Mahal. The lobby is dominated by a 12ft-long bar made of ice, with a giant ice sculpture in the middle. Neon lights embedded in the walls and floor give the place an eerie, magical glow. It isn't the northern lights, but it's close. Our bedroom is quirky, with sculptures of fish protruding from the walls and reindeer skins placed on the hardpacked floor.

Well, it may not be for everyone, but I wouldn't have missed this for the world. Despite my initial misgivings, Anouchka and I sleep remarkably well. Getting out of the sleeping bag is the only real discomfort - but breakfast is soon ready in the cabin near by, and then we're shuttled off to the Rica again for a leisurely sauna and shower before making our way to the airport.

It is getting dark by the time we leave, and Anouchka is already making plans for a longer visit next time, including even more dog- sledding. However, for a long weekend break, this has been a surprisingly full and rewarding trip. We have done many new things, met many good people and laughed more than we have in years.

I never did see the northern lights. Still, as we fly into another breathtaking, not-quite-sunset, I can't find it in me to feel even the slightest bit disappointed.

NEED TO KNOW

Scantours ( 020-7554 3530, www.scantours.co.uk) offers a four-night package to Kirkenes from £1,380pp, including flights on Scandinavian Airlines, transfers, all the activities tried by Joanne Harris and her daughter and the same accommodation.

Information www.visitnorway.co.uk

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