In the Arctic region of Raudfjorden, on a pebble strewn beach stands a small, crude wooden cabin. It’s said that on the same site stood an earlier cabin once inhabited by a lone trapper seeking refuge in the fjord after a terrible mining accident left him disfigured. As I stood in the hut, peering out through one of the many cracks that made-up a wall, I wondered what it must have been like, both for the trapper and others like him who chose to live in such climatically extreme isolation. I tried to imagine living in concert with such an unrelenting, yet singularly wondrous place; a ho...