A Portable Sauna Makes Camping Sublime

Firing up my portable sauna for the first trip of 2020.

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My dad built a homemade sauna-trailer and brought it on family camping trips. Now I have one of my own. It’s a game-changer for those who love to camp.

Being one of few Finns at a rural Canadian school was sometimes strange. Classmates considered my rye bread sandwiches off-putting. They pointed and laughed at my spandex nordic ski suits. Others wondered about my masochistic heritage… because “don’t Finnish people hit themselves with sticks in saunas?” (Our family didn’t typically use vihtas, so, I had little idea as to what they were talking about.)

I was a dork, so, the above did little to improve my situation. In time, though, I got over it. This is in part because the Finns got a lot of things right. That flavourful rye bread makes white-bread seem like styrofoam. People who spend their winters on skinny skis live longer. And that sauna? (It is pronounced: SOW-na.) It might be one of humanity’s greatest inventions.

Some folks extol the health virtues of a sauna. They’ll talk about how time in the sauna relaxes muscles, which aids in recovery from physical exertion. They might mention how a sauna helps flush toxins, and cleanse the skin. Lately, I’ve heard many note how saunas facilitate hormesis (a positive biological response to low exposures to stressors).

These are all compelling reasons for having a sauna. Mine are different, though. As much as I appreciate the health benefits of having a sauna, I love saunas for purely indulgent reasons.

The Finnish seashore where I spent some of my summers. (That water could be chilling.)

Saunas are in my DNA

I’ve been in saunas since I was an infant. We had a sauna in every house we lived in, while I was growing up. In fact, my parents now have two: An electric one is in the house. They use it in the winter months. The other is wood-fired. It’s at their lakeside and used mostly in non-winter months. (They run from that to the lake, to swim, even when the ice has only started to recede.)

During my childhood, we had a sauna nearly every night. This wasn’t a big event. We were only in it for 15 – 20 minutes, followed by a quick shower. It served as a time to talk about the day, after which we all felt rested and ready for bed. Again, this wasn’t a particularly notable event. I figure it was akin to other people taking a nightly bath.

There were also special times for sauna. In the summer, we’d spend whole afternoons in the sauna, peppered with breaks to swim in the lake. Some years we visited Finland, where we had saunas with family members. My most memorable saunas in Finland are from Harmi, where my uncle, aunt, and cousins have a mökki (cabin) on the coast of the Baltic Sea. We lugged in water by the bucket in the morning. Around mid-afternoon, my uncle would light a fire to heat the sauna.

My parents will make a sauna out of a sheet of plastic if that’s their only option.

My cousins, uncles, relatives, and me relaxing post-sauna.

Inside we listened to stories, cracked jokes, and foolishly challenged our uncles to “burning out” contests. (As far as ideas go, these contests are pretty dumb.) You sit in that room while one of the participants throws water on the rocks. Whoever stays the longest wins.

My uncle Arvo was clever. He quietly blew air at us, which made the heat even more searing. He also psyched us out by throwing tiny dollops of water at the heater. At first these appeared trivial—but he tossed them at a high rate. Very quickly these wore us down.

Uncle Eero got the better of all of us. Almost immediately he exited the sauna noting, “You all are too strong for me. I must leave.” We squirmed inside, as the heat became increasingly intolerable. Meanwhile, he sipped his beer in the changing room and took in the beautiful ocean view. Upon witnessing this, we realized who had actually won that contest.

Back home, sauna was part of our Christmas routine. On Christmas Eve, we took in a sauna before eating dinner, opening gifts, and falling asleep on the sofa/floor. My brother, dad, and I sat there for a good while and talked. Sometimes we ran outside to roll in the snow, but I never really enjoyed that (it felt too prickly). Mostly, we enjoyed our relaxed conversation in the sauna. I’ll always look fondly on those times.

Dad pulled our first portable sauna behind a Chevy Van.

Have sauna; will travel

Once you’ve come to appreciate the experience had in the sauna, it seems unfortunate to be without it. I suspect that’s what led my dad to build his first portable sauna. He fabricated a small utility trailer and enclosed the top with plywood. Inside was a stove he built and two benches.

His portable sauna confused most people. Some thought we slept in it. Others asked if we were smoking fish. Once we explained, though, most would smile and tell us how neat it was. Some even gave it a try. Throngs of people passed through it one hot weekend in Salmon Arm.

I also remember meeting Yutaka Nakasone (a Japanese adventurer who motorcycled up, down, and across North America). We invited him to try our sauna and he was immediately hooked. After that night he pretty much followed us from one park to the next, to partake in our evening ritual. His poor English and our non-existent Japanese made for stilted conversations—but still, we shared a unique connection.

Boondocking with our Finnish cousins in B.C.’s interior.

Posing with our new friend Yutaka.

Meeting some of the locals in Atlin.

We traveled all over the province with Dad’s sauna in tow. There was Whitefish Lake where we needed a winch and come-along to get unstuck from a big hole. We had the sauna with us in Atlin. That epic lake remains one of the chilliest ones I remember. It was even with us for two house builds. We used it in summer, and sometimes in winter. (One year the snowbanks were higher than the sauna’s roof).

As much as I liked that sauna, it was embarrassing at times. For example, when we brought it to a fancy resort in the Okanagan. I’m not sure if the staff actually looked down at us when we arrived, or if I imagined this. Nevertheless, I swear The Beverly Hillbillies theme song played as we rolled up.

Why I love saunas

Again, I know saunas offer health benefits. I’ll certainly take those—and I’m glad to know that saunas are being researched in this way. However, my love of sauna is one part functional, one part hedonistic.

I love the outdoors, but I don’t like being stinky. That’s what always got me about camping as a kid. I didn’t like smelling of campfire smoke when I went to bed. With a portable sauna, there’s none of that. Mid-afternoon or early evening, you fire up your sauna, sweat profusely, and then wash.

Camping at Whitefish Lake with good friend, John Till.

In our portable sauna, we typically use basins to wash. In them, we mix water (heated atop the stove) with cold water, until the temperature is suitable. We then lather up with soap and pour the water over our heads. Another approach is to jerry-rig a shower by attaching a faucet to a bucket. You then put the bucket on top of the sauna and let gravity do the rest.

After this, my head hits the pillow and I drift off in less than a minute (no exaggeration). This effect is compounded when we add swimming. If camping next to a lake, we run repeatedly from the sauna into the water. Something about that rapid shift from hot to cool is both exhilarating and refreshing (and later sedating).

Time in the sauna is calm. The only sounds are friendly voices, the crackling fire, and the water striking the rocks—which creates that lovely steam that Finns call löyly. The way I prefer a sauna (set to moderate temperature, plus lots of water on the rocks) makes the sauna hot and humid.

As the heat increases, you might turn your head down slightly so the tops of your ears don’t feel burnt. You’ll squint to keep sweat from stinging your eyes. To the uninitiated, this might sound like torture. For those who’ve experienced it, though, the notion is probably familiar and welcome.

Ah, yes… then there are the beverages. Stepping outside and cracking a crisp beer after/during a hot sauna is uniquely refreshing.

Kari, Leo, my dad, and Jorma enjoying a sauna in Kauhajoki.

And now I have one!

At some point, Dad sold our portable sauna. It still came up in conversations, though. I must have brought it up more than I realized, because one day dad called and said, “So… I bought a trailer.” He found a small (4 feet wide x 6 feet long) Wells Cargo MW6, which he told me he planned to turn into a sauna.

Over the next while, he sealed the trailer, put wood on the walls, and added a self-closing door. He fabricated a tiny sauna stove (which is strangely cute) and encased the rocks to keep them in place during transport. Then he added a foldable seat, a bench with storage for firewood, a smokestack, and sheet metal around the sauna heater to protect the walls.

Above the rocks is a pot for heating water. We use this to warm water for bathing—and sometimes for washing camp dishes. To the stove’s side is a large steel pail to contain cold water. This is used to throw on the rocks for steam, and for washing ourselves.

This sauna is functional. The wooden interior is finished with a sealant formulated for use in saunas. The floor has holes drilled in it for water drainage (we plug these when driving). Hooks and rope on the ceiling allow us to dry our wet clothes. The floor has bike mounts so we can bring our rides along. There are also screw eyes and bungees that keep the smokestack in place when we travel between campsites.

The things that define you

I started writing this post, not sure if I’d have enough to fill the page. I soon realized this wouldn’t be a problem. As I reminisced, sauna stories continued to pop into my head. (This post would be many times longer if I had shared all of them.)

A sauna is a simple thing: an enclosure, a stove, some rocks, and a bucket of water. Yet, it’s so much more than the sum of its parts. It’s a space for sharing stories, and connecting with family and friends. It’s therapy (mental and physical) from whatever’s weighing on you. It’s a means of slowing down and taking a breather.

The only thing it isn’t, is a “saw-na”.

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The main door swings out of the way to reveal the sauna. Note the shower unit on top, and foot washing basin and stand at the entrance.

The sauna’s interior is simple and functional. When in transit it houses the smokestack, firewood, camping gear, and mountain bikes.

The small sauna interior allows us to heat it in as little as 15 minutes.

Some clear Coroplast on the door retains privacy while letting some light in.

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