My stay at the world's edge in a hotel with a husky at reception

Hunting for polar bear and Arctic fox was never a fast track to becoming a millionaire. Yet, for many Norwegians, being an overwintering trapper was a lofty career goal. The attraction lay in the lifestyle: braving the harshest winter conditions in some of the world's most remote areas for complete solitude. On the Svalbard archipelago, the trapping heyday of 1890-1940 has long since passed, but the culture of these remote survivalists remains. We checked into Longyearbyen's Basecamp Hotel for a little glimpse of it.

Sneakers and boots sit in pairs inside the entrance, mine joining them as I pad into reception in my socks. Leaving your shoes at the door is a hangup from the island's coal-mining days, and a unique quirk of Svalbardian culture. So too is bringing your husky to work. This office husky's presence is very fitting, given the koselig (cosy) and homely feel the driftwood, burlap and seal pelt-clad space exudes. The dining room leans even further into the style, with the wonky, timber communal tables presided over by a large polar bear pelt.

Just metres from Basecamp's entrance, two Svalbard reindeer graze, unperturbed by the small group of tourists watching on. Behind them, a row of colourful timber houses stands in stark contrast to the snow-covered peaks in the distance. It's just one of the mountain ridges that flanks downtown Longyearbyen, which sits at the end of a small fjord and looks out at the island's more famous Isfjord. It's a short walk to the water's edge, only made longer by the need to stop in at the world's northernmost boutique chocolatier, and for caffeination and canine cuddles at the Husky Cafe.

Just like the public spaces, my triple room is a driftwood and burlap special. The single and a bunk configuration is the antithesis of romantic Arctic hideaway, and instead a thematic move straight out of the trapper-cabin-style guide. In the profession's boom time, cabins were communal spaces with dorm-like bedding, and Basecamp Hotel is clearly a stickler for accuracy. For couples who prefer shared bedding, a suite with a double bed is available. What the stacked bedding saves in space is conveniently utilised as a raised sitting area, stocked with fiction and non-fiction reads, as well as a small crate containing purchasable wine, beer and snacks. The fridge? Just leave your stuff outside the window.

Breakfast is simple, consisting of the usual Scandinavian cold cuts, cheese and fresh bread, alongside a small selection of hot dishes. The chef on duty insists on making porridge or eggs "my way", but I have my eyes set on the hjertevafler (heart-shaped waffles), brunost (a caramelised brown cheese) and strawberry jam. Another casual menu awaits on the other side of a "secret door" just outside the breakfast area. It connects the hotel to Kroa, a cosy tavern serving moose burgers and Norwegian-style pizza.

Late May's patchy snow and midnight sun don't exactly fit the understanding most people have of the Arctic. It's hardly snowmobile and aurora-spotting conditions, but I'm not phased, busying myself with less weather-dependent activities. I'm picked up from Basecamp by a guide from Gruve 3 - the only publicly accessible coal mine on the island - for a tour of the old workrooms and tunnels, before wandering the exhibits at the Svalbard Museum.

The purposeful omission of TVs at the hotel leaves plenty of time to get lost in a good book. I take mine upstairs to the glass-roofed lounge and alternate between its pages and the sight of softly falling snow outside. Though night never falls during my stay, I can only imagine what it's like to sit here, sa koslig, watching the aurora dance across the night sky.

The writer was a guest of Basecamp Hotel