“My husband and I try, first and foremost, to create a sense of home. We’d rather not make it too business-like or hotel-ish.”

So wrote Mrs. Seefried, the hostess who welcomed Hållfjället’s very first guests in the winter of 1943. And that spirit of hospitality still lingers in the walls. Here, you’re welcome just as you are—wrapped in a wool sweater and thick socks, or dressed in your Sunday best. One guest settles in with a book and a good glass of something; another brushes snow from his beard and hangs damp socks to dry.

Hållfjället has always been a place of contrast: the untamed, sometimes harsh landscape, paired with a perfectly stirred martini or a thoughtfully prepared local ingredient. Days move with the quiet rhythm of the mountain, and meals are shaped by what truly belongs here.

Climbing the slope means leaving something behind. In return, you’re met by crisp air, sweeping views, and a stillness that lingers long after you leave. The mountain can be stark, sometimes unforgiving—but perhaps that’s what makes it all the more precious.

And today, once again, a host couple stands ready—fluffing pillows, stoking the fire, opening the door. So knock the snow from your boots and come inside. You’ve been expected.

We love cooking over open fire, uncorking good bottles, and filling the kitchen with what truly belongs here—vegetables from our garden in Ottsjö, paired with meat, fish, cheese, and other delights from nearby friends and neighbours.

What was once the old boiler room now houses Hållfjället’s wine cellar, its shelves lined with bottles chosen with care, each one telling a quite story of a place and those who tend it.

The table is set, the fire glows gently – your chair is waiting.

In our snug rooms, the floorboards creak as if time has nearly come to a standstill. In the best possible way, of course – with hand-painted woodwork from the 1940s, carefully preserved beds and details that speak of another time. You sleep much like they did then, but rest in the comfort of today, where each bed is thoughtfully made with carefully chosen materials.

The beds are slightly smaller than modern standards, but that’s part of the charm – to tuck into a piece of history and wake to the stillness of the mountains, morning light filtering across walls that have seen many winters.

Hållfjället’s mountain lodge was built in the early 1940s by Austrian visionary Theodor Seefried—a renaissance soul who drew the plans, engineered the structure, and raised the timber with his own hands. And what a marvel it was for its time: guests would ski or hike their way up, perhaps with dancing shoes tucked in their packs, ready for an elegant supper and a turn around the piano.

What we treasure most today—beyond the vast, unspoiled wilderness—is how little has changed. Hållfjället remains a place where artistic flair meets uncompromising craft.

Today, we are a small group rooted in gastronomy, growing and hosting, gently tending this place forward. Our inspiration lies in the land and in the sense of belonging – in the wish to create something both beautiful in the moment and guiding for what lies ahead. We grow where we are, in the village below the mountain, and honour what grows wild around us.

The smallest things hold the deepest meaning: a basket of meadowsweet, wood sorrel and other gifts from the hillside, a catch of Arctic char, a table set for just a few. Together, they form a quiet rhythm – something to lean into. Through food, conversation and the pace of the seasons, we try to remember – and help our guests remember – what so easily slips away: stillness, care, and the joy of the simple.

To us, it’s not a longing for the past, but a new kind of luxury. One that’s not about having more – but about holding close what truly matters.

Hållfjället is not the easiest place to reach—and that is precisely its charm. Whether by skis, snowmobile, or on foot, the journey is part of the experience. In days long past, it was pure muscle—and sometimes the help of a horse—that carried guests up the mountain. But once you arrived, a welcoming fire, cozy shelter, and a delicious meal awaited you.

Back in the early 1940s, the mountain hostess would remind visitors to pack a lunch satchel and a compass—and kindly urged them not to burden the trail leader with oranges or spare mittens. It was, as she wrote “plain wrong for the guide to haul everyone’s sandwiches—no matter how charming the company.” Her advice was plentiful, and always delivered with a wink: woollen layers, a map, a bright cap—and above all, a cheerful spirit.

Today, as always, making your way here by foot or skis is a part of the experience.