Few experiences evoke both awe and controversy quite like witnessing the true essence of reindeer herding—a tradition that has persisted for centuries in the remote wilderness of northern Sweden. And this is the part most people miss: beneath the idyllic images of Santa’s sleigh is a complex, resilient lifestyle that blends age-old practices with cutting-edge technology. But here’s where it gets controversial... modern tools like drones and thermal imaging are reshaping traditional herding, sparking debates about the future of Sami culture and the ecological challenges they face.
Imagine ascending a snow-laden hilltop, where two Sami reindeer herders sit against their snowmobiles, wrapped in thick, insulated clothing, their ears protected by warm hats. One peers through binoculars into the expansive valley below, while the other manages a drone equipped with a speaker system that emits specialized calls. Thermal imaging devices help track the reindeer’s movements, and loyal sled dogs do the rest of the work. Elvjin, the younger herder, generously pours strong coffee into small cups, explaining that their primary goal at this time of year is to keep the herd visible and protected—especially as calves are born and predators like bears, wolverines, and eagles become a greater threat. Seeing the herd allows them to monitor and safeguard these vulnerable animals.
Before arriving here, I pictured reindeer herding as a mostly traditional, rustic way of life—perhaps with a few modern tools for practicality. But this journey reveals a different story: a blend of old traditions and innovative technology. Such methods may seem at odds with rustic stereotypes but are vital to managing this delicate environment. The Sami people’s culture, long suppressed and misunderstood, now finds itself at a crossroads, with efforts underway to showcase its authenticity amid the rise of commercial tourism. Previously, this region’s Sami heritage suffered under policies that punished their language and shamanic practices—missions that once stormed summer camps, destroyed drums, and built churches over sacred sites, leaving deep scars.
Thankfully, today’s Sami community, including Peter and Helena, is actively reshaping their narrative through initiatives like cultural tours and handicraft sales. These endeavors not only help preserve their rich culture but also support their livelihoods. Elvjin’s role is crucial—dedicated full-time to herd management, a necessity given that most Sami cannot afford the time to tend their reindeer without additional income. The herd he guards is part of a community-owned group comprising roughly 800 animals, a collective that represents the entire village of Grövelsjön near the Norwegian border. Each reindeer bears an ear tag indicating ownership—a key detail when the government officially permits up to 2,700 reindeer to be kept, although actual numbers fluctuate due to predation and slaughtering, with around 700 reindeer being culled annually.
The ongoing debate about wildlife management surfaces naturally. For instance, I ask Peter whether bears should be eradicated to protect reindeer. His answer is nuanced; with modern technology, he believes that selective removal of predatory bears is feasible. However, his stance on wolves is much firmer: he argues that wolves and reindeer simply cannot coexist in the same space. This sparks a question—should we prioritize reindeer populations over carnivorous predators, or do wolves have an ecological role that we overlook?
As the landscape brightens with the emerging sun, a line of reindeer appears in the distance, and a dog leaps onto the snowmobile’s seat. Peter responds with a playful yodel, a traditional Sami joik—a musical chant rooted in their cultural identity and connection to nature. We then move toward a humble wooden cabin, where Peter uses binoculars to identify herds returning from grazing. He jokes that Sami language, with its many specific words for different types of snow and moss-covered areas, makes it uniquely suited for navigating this challenging environment.
Reindeer instinctively head west at this time of year, turning their noses into the wind to better detect predators. Herding thus becomes an ongoing struggle against these natural instincts—a delicate balancing act supplemented by feeding sacks and strategic herding techniques.
Inside a cozy, handcrafted cabin, Helena builds a fire beneath a vintage cooking range. As night falls, they prepare traditional black coffee without sugar, and I observe the craftsmanship in their wooden cups and knives—testaments to the Sami’s deep appreciation for fine handmade items. Helena adds scraps of cheese and reindeer biltong to her coffee—a surprisingly delicious combination—and brews lichen tea to satisfy my curiosity about their beverages before coffee became widespread.
Our conversations drift between past and present: Peter recalls how his grandfather once took a reindeer on a train to Stockholm, a journey symbolizing their long-standing connection to this land, which only relaxed after government policies shifted in the 1950s. His family’s history also includes remarkable stories of resilience—such as his father, who, discovered as a talented skier, competed in two Winter Olympics despite never having visited a big city. Yet, throughout these changes, reindeer herding remains the core of their life.
Later, I meet Peter’s brother, Thomas, who cares for a small herd of semi-domesticated reindeer used to train the main herd to be more accustomed to human presence. Walking among them, I realize how deeply intertwined their lives are with their animals and landscape—a simple but profound harmony.
My final night is spent alone in a Sami tipi, nestled among the trees, wrapped in down sleeping bags, with a log burner quietly humming nearby. Gazing at the star-studded sky through the slightly open tent door, I feel an overwhelming sense of privilege—an intimate glimpse into the living memory of Sami traditions adapting to modern times. As I drift into sleep, I think about the bears asleep in snow caves nearby and reflect on how this landscape balances ancient wilderness with contemporary life.
This journey was arranged by Visit Dalarna, with transportation provided by Interrail, offering a seven-day pass for travelers who wish to explore in depth. The Sami experiences, including stays in the authentic Sami Tipi Mujjies—offering immersive cultural activities and comfortable accommodations—are available through Renbiten. Prices start at around £475 per night for two, including all meals and equipment, making it a unique opportunity for those eager to experience Sami life firsthand.
Would you embrace this blend of tradition and innovation, or do you think modern technology risks erasing authentic Sami culture? Share your thoughts—are these changes a necessary evolution or a delicate compromise? Let’s discuss.
