Silence, but the occasional pop of firewood and the distant whisper of the wind moving through the snow-laden pines. Somewhere in the distance, an animal seeking shelter, a fleeting reminder that we aren’t entirely alone here.
This is not a place for the faint-hearted. The Arctic demands respect, patience, and resilience. But it offers gifts in return—raw beauty, profound silence, and the rare opportunity to feel truly alive.
As I sip hot Glögg from a tin mug, I marvel at the simplicity of this moment. In this place, the line between adventure and survival blurs, and every act—starting a fire, cooking a meal, bedding down for the night—is both a challenge and a reward.
Tomorrow, we’ll move on, carving tracks through the fresh snow. For now, under the Arctic sky, this frozen world feels like it belongs to us alone.
Mornings in the Arctic have a way of making the vastness feel smaller. Even when no one is within miles of us, the act of brewing coffee—hand-grinding beans and making coffee in our trusted Moka pot—brings a sense of familiarity. The dogs sit close, their warm breath curling in the crisp air, as if they, too, savour the ritual. With mugs in hand, we plan the day ahead, plotting a course to the next spot.
The Defender roars to life, though its reliability is as rugged as its design. This time, it was an electrical wire that shorted, a small failure with outsized consequences in the Arctic cold. Fixing it meant stopping in a small town, ducking into shops and merchants, chatting with locals who explained their way of life.
It’s here we learned about the black bin bags tied to poles along the roads—simple markers placed by the Saami people, a warning that reindeer are nearby. It’s a quiet code of the land, a blend of tradition and practicality. These encounters with locals are as much a part of the journey as the frozen landscapes; their stories, gestures, and advice stitch together a picture of life here, far from the chaos of the busy world.
Of course, roadside repairs are inevitable. We’re prepared for the Defender’s quirks and are no strangers to digging through snowbanks. It’s part of the adventure, though there’s little glamour in crouching under a car during a blizzard or fumbling with snow chains as the cold seeps into every breath.
And yet, these challenges are almost welcome—they’re proof that we’re truly here, testing ourselves against a world that is beautiful in its indifference. Even when we’re stuck in the snow, digging with shovels and deploying traction boards under the Defender's tyres, there’s a quiet satisfaction in solving problems as they come. That is, until the car is free, the snowstorm settles, and the fire is finally lit for a late dinner.
Cooking over an open fire at -20°C, sometimes in colder temperatures, carries its own flavour. The warmth from the flames is a comfort against the cold as we grill simple meals—like salmon—paired with steaming mugs of hot glögg. Elegance isn’t the priority; practicality and the pleasure of a hot meal after a long day are enough.
The true highlight of these road trips, however, is the time spent outdoors with the dogs. Whether hiking through winter trails or lounging beside the fire, they thrive in the Arctic just as much as we do. Watching them race through the powder tails wagging, is a reminder that the cold invigorates and sharpens.
Even on the drive, the dogs find their joy. As we pull into a new town, Kiko presses her nose to the window, her breath fogging the glass as she sniffs out the unseen world.
We always divide these trips into three parts: the ascent north, the time spent in the Arctic, and the return home. Each phase has its own perk. The drive up is about anticipation, watching the landscape grow wilder, darker and colder. The Arctic is where the time comes to a halt, shaped by snow and peace. The return is a chance to reflect on the miles behind us.
The Arctic isn’t just a destination; it’s an experience of living on the edge of comfort, a reminder of both the challenges and the rewards that come with embracing the cold. And as we drive, camp, and hike our way through it, with the dogs as eager companions, the journey becomes a story—not just of the places we’ve been, but of who we are when the world is stripped back to its simplest form.
There are nights when the stillness of the Arctic feels less serene and more uneasy, as we carefully plan each step before settling into the rooftop tent. Driving deeper into the woods, where the only tracks belong to wildlife from weeks past, brings an edge of uncertainty. Is there a phone signal if something goes wrong? Will the diesel heater and battery hold through the night? As a last resort, we could climb into the car with the dogs, hoping the engine would start to get us out in an emergency. These moments of calculation and contingency remind us of the fine line between adventure and survival, sharpening our senses.
It’s not all wild camping and roadside repairs. For Christmas, we always make a point to find a Christmas lodge—our sanctuary in the middle of nowhere, where the Arctic shows a softer side. After days spent braving the cold arriving at a warm lodge feels like stepping into a Christmas tale.
The lodge becomes a world of its own, a flickering firelight and Scandinavian charm. In the evenings, after wandering into the woods with the dogs to watch the stars or catching a ride on a husky sledge through the frozen wilderness, we retreat to our warm and cosy lodge.
Sitting by the fire with the dogs at our feet, we let the warmth seep into our bones—a glass of mimosa, a quiet book, or a recently found wildlife photographer vlog documenting life in the Arctic.
There’s a particular joy in the rituals of Christmas here. A Swedish sauna becomes a luxurious reset. Preparing a festive meal in the lodge’s kitchen is a treat in itself, the air filling with the scent of roasting vegetables and Christmas pudding. And of course, there’s always a glass of mimosa to toast the season.
This contrast—between wildness and comfort—is what makes these lodges so special. They’re not just a break from the cold but an immersion into the heart of the Arctic without the challenges of setting up a camp.
As much as we love the adventure of wild camping, these moments of ease remind us why we love the Arctic so deeply. It’s a place that offers everything—from untamed beauty to the perfect stillness of a cosy lodge at Christmastime.
Our Arctic adventure doesn’t end until we’re back home, the Defender unpacked, and the last bit of snow has melted off the bonnet. The drive south is its own cherished chapter. After the harsh beauty of the Arctic, Scandinavia opens up with its quiet charm— and towns that feel like postcards come to life.
The pace is slower now that the urgency of reaching the Arctic has been replaced by a sense of reflection.
An Arctic road trip is a story of contrasts. Driving a Defender through Lapland often in below -30°C, with three dogs in tow, is a test of resilience and a celebration of the wild. The journey is as much about the people and places we encounter as it is about the landscapes. From learning local traditions like the Saami reindeer warnings to enjoying Scandinavian towns on our way home, every moment adds a new layer to the experience.
In the end, the trip leaves us transformed—humbled by nature’s power, recharged by its beauty, and already planning our return to the land of snow and silence.