For a short window in May, we open the door to a handful of guests. Not to watch from a distance, but to be there. Among the herd. Feeding them. Moving through the same landscape we do. If the timing is right, you may witness a newborn calf take its first breath.

You’ll travel with us by snowmobile sleigh, seated on warm hides. The reindeer will come close, not because they’re tame, but because they trust us. And when you’re with us, they’ll trust you too.

We sit together around the fire, and share our meal after what the land has given us based of the season. Wild, real, and cooked the old Sámi way. You won’t find this in any restaurant. These are ancestral preparations, made to be eaten right here in the wild, with the reindeers close and the mountain around us.

In the quiet, with the herd nearby and the fire burning, the moment often calls for a joik. Not planned, not performed. Just part of the moment. Like the reindeer. Like the snow. Like you being there.