Big Agnes Crag Lake SL2 – Why I moved from the attic to the basement.

Let’s be honest, not all changes are a matter of choice. Circumstance often has a lot to say.

Look at travel through my eyes for a moment and you’ll see my rooftop tent dominating the space above Larry, my Land Rover. I have lived up there for more years than I care to remember—not because of any untoward experiences, but because it has become part of who I am. Truth be told, I am perfectly content once I am lying on the mattress, either inside or next to my sleeping bag. Arctic nights or sweltering summer evenings when the air refuses to move and the thermometer barely acknowledges that darkness has fallen; it makes little difference. I am at home in my lofty abode, away from the animals of the night and safely above the rising tide should a torrential downpour come my way.

But we cannot ignore the fact that a properly installed rooftop tent is just that: a properly installed rooftop tent. The moment another vehicle enters the equation, compromises begin to appear. A last-minute photo shoot. A press launch. A test drive. Some manufacturers understandably prefer their vehicles to remain exactly as they left the factory, and if I’m honest, removing and refitting fifty-odd kilograms of tent for the sake of one or two nights quickly loses its appeal. There are other solutions, and they don’t necessarily involve a hotel.

Two occasions spring immediately to mind. The first came with a phone call out of the blue. Tristan and I were invited to southern France to drive the latest Kia XCeed. While most of the other journalists chose comfortable hotels and urban life, we headed for the hills above Marseille to spend the night under the stars.

Flying and a compact crossover rather ruled out the rooftop tent, so we fell back on our Nordisk Lofoten ultralight tents. Advertised as two-person shelters, I struggle to fit myself and a sleeping bag inside, never mind anything else. Fortunately, that hardly mattered because everything else stayed safely in the car. For that particular trip, the Lofoten did exactly what it had been designed to do.

The second occasion was rather different. A spontaneous winter escape with a New Defender took us into the Eifel for several nights of sub-zero temperatures. Looking back, the spacious Nordisk Asgard would probably have been the more comfortable choice, but after days of relentless rain, the campsite resembled a bog more than a meadow. The tiny Lofoten won again simply because it could be rinsed off under a shower afterwards and hung up to dry.

Did I mention it was the middle of winter? This time it was me, the mattress, a winter sleeping bag, several layers of clothing, and what little dignity remained after squeezing inside, all competing for the same tiny space. Condensation formed so readily that I half expected it to freeze into stalactites before morning.

Don’t get me wrong. For anyone looking for an extraordinarily light tent that disappears into the corner of a rucksack, the Lofoten is a remarkable piece of engineering. In the right environment and for the right purpose, I would happily recommend it. But it also taught me a few lessons.

At the beginning of 2025 we began planning our winter expedition to Nordkapp. One thing was beyond doubt: It was going to be bitterly cold, with every possibility of strong winds sweeping in from the Barents Sea. For a journey of that length, fitting the rooftop tent to the Quartermaster made perfect sense. But I have experienced enough storms in rooftop tents to know that whatever I had encountered previously could easily be eclipsed by a full Arctic gale. I needed a contingency plan for the nights when retiring to the roof might simply become impractical.