“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. That spirit of hospitality seems to linger in the walls: you may still walk in just as you are—wearing a wool sweater and thick socks, or dressed in your Sunday best. One guest settles in with a good glass and a book; another brushes snow from his beard and hangs his socks to dry.

Contrasts have always defined the experience here: the wild, sometimes unforgiving landscape; a carefully prepared local ingredient or a perfectly stirred dry martini. Days follow the mountain’s quiet rhythm, and meals are shaped by what truly belongs here.

Coming up the slope means leaving something behind. In return, you are met by clear air, sweeping views, and a stillness that lingers long after you leave—even though the mountain can be stark and the wind biting. Perhaps it is all the more precious because of that.

Today, once again, a host couple—surrounded by the finest company—fluffs the pillows, stokes the fire, and opens the door. Knock the snow from your boots and step 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. The old boiler room now holds Hållfjället’s wine cellar, its shelves lined with carefully chosen bottles.
The table is laid, the fire is lit—your chair awaits.

In our snug rooms, the floorboards creak as though time itself had paused—gently, lovingly, with only a few thoughtful refinements. The décor flows with the house, and the old hand-painted beds feel softer than ever.

Read more and begin your stay with us.

Hållfjället’s mountain lodge was built in the early 1940s by Austrian visionary Theodor Seefried—a true 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 day: guests would ski or hike up, perhaps with dancing shoes tucked in their packs, ready for an elegant supper and a turn around the piano.

What we cherish now—beyond the boundless, unfiltered wilderness—is how little has changed. Hållfjället remains a place where artistic flair meets uncompromising craft. And so we intend to keep it—for guests to savour, and for nature to remain firmly in charge of this remote and protected corner of the world.

Hållfjället isn’t the easiest place to reach—and that’s precisely what makes it special. You come by skis, snowmobile, or on foot. In days gone by, sheer muscle (perhaps with a horse in tow) was the only way up the mountain. But once you arrived, a crackling fire, warm shelter, and something delicious would be waiting.

In the early 1940s, the mountain hostess reminded guests to pack a lunch satchel and a compass—and not to burden the trail leader with oranges and 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 disposition.

Travelling here on foot or skis remains the most evocative way to begin your stay.