63°26′N · above the treeline
Alba
A remote valley. One unhurried day.
Scroll through the lightWe measure a stay not in nights, but in light. Arrive before the sun. Leave after the stars. Alba is one valley, three cabins, and the oldest schedule on earth.
Wake with the forest
Mist burns off the pines as the valley exhales. Coffee on the porch, then a slow path threaded with light.
Swim in glacier light
The water is honest: cold, clear, awake. Lunch is whatever the valley gave us that morning, served on the deck.
Do nothing, beautifully
Linen, oak, a window the size of the view. The afternoon asks nothing of you — and means it.
Walk into the amber hour
The trail climbs just enough to watch the sun lower itself into the next valley over.
Gather as the cold arrives
Wool blankets, cedar smoke, dinner over flame. The sky runs through every blue it knows.
Sleep under the Milky Way
One warm window in a dark valley. The stars handle the rest.
Timber and glass, two guests each, a respectful walk apart.
The sun decides. We just cook, pour, and point at trails.
No wifi, no neighbours, no light for forty kilometres.
Begin at first light
Three cabins. Two guests each. One day at a time. Tell us when, and we'll hold the valley for you.
Received. We'll reply before sunrise.
Keep an eye on your inbox — and start deciding which hour of the day you'll claim as your favourite.