Long before Harnon existed, sauna found us while travelling the world in 2013.

One of the first regions we explored, and still one of our favourite parts of the world to this day, was Scandinavia.

It was in Stockholm that we experienced traditional sauna culture for the first time.

Our hostel recommended a lakeside sauna, and we still remember not believing the host when he explained we’d be sitting in temperatures close to 100°C before jumping straight into an icy lake… repeatedly.

Then we did exactly that — and absolutely loved it.

Something about the contrast of heat and cold, the feeling afterwards, and the culture surrounding it all stayed with us long after we returned home to Tasmania.

At first, the heat felt almost unbearable. Sitting in that level of heat forced us to confront how unfamiliar we were with intentionally sitting in discomfort, and how quickly we instinctively try to escape it or “fix” it the moment it appears.

Then came the cold.

Standing at the edge of an icy lake in the middle of a Swedish winter felt almost impossible to comprehend, let alone willingly step into. But the moment we did, something shifted. The shock gave way to an overwhelming rush — adrenaline, laughter, disbelief, exhilaration.

And then came the rest afterwards.

That part is difficult to describe properly unless you’ve experienced it yourself.

Everything slowed down. The world felt sharper and softer at the same time. Sitting there wrapped in warmth after moving between those extremes felt nothing short of euphoric — calm, clear-headed, grounded, emotional. We found ourselves laughing, smiling, sitting quietly, noticing tiny details around us, and feeling more present than we had in a very long time.

It wasn’t really about the heat itself.

It was the feeling that followed.

That was the part that stayed with us.

Back home in Tasmania, we slowly realised that most people we knew had only experienced sauna as a hot room attached to a gym, spa, or retreat. Often people wandered in and out without much understanding of the rhythm behind it all — heat, cold, rest, stillness, conversation.

Even the idea that sauna could be deeply relaxing felt foreign to a lot of people.

Ironically, Amanda always claimed to hate being hot. She also hated the cold and avoided cold water at all costs — no rivers, no winter swims, no ocean unless it was over 30 degrees.

Now, even without sauna, she actively seeks out cold swims whenever possible.

Somewhere along the way, sauna changed our relationship with winter, discomfort, rest, and even Tasmania itself.

During COVID, sauna started finding its way back into conversation more and more. Colin has always had an entrepreneurial and deeply creative brain — constantly sketching ideas, designing things, and imagining what could exist next. Eventually we found ourselves asking the same question over and over:

Why doesn’t Tasmania already have a stronger sauna culture?

To us, it felt like it should naturally belong here.

Cold water.
Dark winters.
Quiet beaches.
Fresh air.
Wilderness.
Weather that encourages you to slow down and lean into the elements instead of escaping them.

It was always here.

In 2021, we bought a Russian banya tent from an avid sauna enthusiast who also happened to operate a mobile sauna trailer. He invited us up for a session, and it completely reignited the obsession.

What we loved most was how universal sauna felt. Different countries and cultures all approached it slightly differently, but the core experience remained the same — heat, cold, rest, conversation, laughter, stillness, and connection.

That experience pushed Harnon from “maybe one day” into something real.

The idea itself began during COVID in 2020, when Colin’s full-time work was heavily impacted and suddenly there was time to sit with ideas that had been quietly building for years. What started as sketches and concepts slowly became years of designing, refining, engineering, and building by hand.

In December 2022, the first trailer chassis was finally welded together.

From there, Harnon became an obsession in the truest sense of the word.

Almost every part of the sauna was designed and built by hand — the steel frame, electrical systems, lighting, ventilation, interiors, timber work, technology, airflow systems, and detailing. The entire project was built around one idea:

Creating the exact experience we wished existed here in Tasmania.

Airflow became one of the most important parts of the design. Years were spent researching and designing a convection-based airflow system that continually draws fresh air through the sauna, circulates heat properly across the room, and creates a softer, more balanced experience without stale air or harsh heat pockets.

Atmosphere mattered just as much.

Warm lighting was carefully positioned to create a calm, immersive environment that feels more like stepping into a cave or retreat than a brightly lit room. Salvaged Tasmanian Huon pine, recycled western red cedar from dismantled saunas, brass detailing, Tasmanian dolerite stone, the ambient glow of the fire, living plants, and natural textures were all brought together to create something grounding, warm, and deeply connected to this place.

Many of the materials inside Harnon have lived previous lives before finding their way here. Timber collected and stored by family members for decades was milled and transformed into panelling. Cedar was salvaged and recycled by hand from old saunas before being carefully rebuilt into something new.

In many ways, Harnon became part engineering project, part creative outlet, and part love letter to Tasmania itself.

The process was incredibly rewarding, but also incredibly difficult. There were years of long nights, weekends, financial risk, sacrifices, balancing full-time work with family life, and slowly trying to carve out enough time and resources to bring the vision to life.

But even during the build, something interesting started happening.

We began introducing friends to sauna through the original tent setup — including plenty of skeptics who thought they hated heat or had no interest in sauna culture at all.

Almost every single one walked away completely hooked.

Not because of the heat itself.

But because of the feeling afterwards.

The calm.
The clarity.
The laughter.
The stillness.
The strange euphoria that comes from moving between extremes before finally settling into rest.

That feeling is ultimately what Harnon is about.

For us, sauna was never really about sitting in a hot room.

It’s about slowing down enough to reconnect — with yourself, with nature, and with the people around you.

It’s about embracing Tasmania’s weather rather than hiding from it. Walking out into cold air. Looking at water differently. Feeling present again. Sharing an experience with strangers or friends that somehow leaves everyone smiling by the end of it.

That’s what we mean when we say:

“Sauna the verb, not the noun.”