The Couple Who Turned a Tent Into a Boat and Called It Home

Jojo and Norah built a raft, set up a canvas tent on top, and set off along Sweden’s Dalsland Canal. It sounds scrappy—and it is—but it also feels like summer that never ends.

A Tent, 28 Barrels, and a Plan That Floats

Picture a bell tent perched on a wooden deck, bobbing along a quiet lake, moving as fast as a person walks. That’s their house: 3.9 meters wide, 7 meters long, floating on 28 blue barrels and a lot of optimism. Slow is the point. It looks lived-in in the best way.

They pulled the whole thing together fast. Three days for the barrel-and-wood structure with help from parents, then a few weeks stacking on the practical bits and finally the tent. No blueprint, just solving one problem and then the next.

The route is ambitious: a lock-linked lake system with something like 18 gates and a few hundred kilometers of water. At four kilometers an hour and a fondness for staying wherever it’s nice, they might not finish. But it’s fine. There’s always next summer.

How the Tent Sneaks Through a Lock

Here’s the funny part: the raft is skinny enough for the locks, but the tent is not. So they built flip-up side platforms—wings, basically—so the bell tent can squeeze through without drama. It’s very “backyard engineering,” and it works.

Steering is equally homemade. Two metal cables run from the bow to the engine in back. Pull right, the engine swivels left. They’re plotting a real wheel up front so it feels less like tug-of-war and more like, you know, driving.

Power, Noise, and the Little Solar Farm

Their engine is a secondhand 6-horsepower two-stroke—old, loud, and tough. It drags a raft that weighs around one and a half tons, which honestly is asking a lot. An electric outboard is the dream; the wallet hasn’t caught up yet.

Electricity comes from two 150-watt panels feeding three batteries tucked under the stern deck. It’s not much, but it keeps lights on and phones charged, and that’s most of what they need. The panels double as a roof for odds and ends.

They carry about 80 liters of petrol in jerrycans and keep the anchor ready to go. The anchor is secondhand too, because almost everything is. If it floats or holds something that floats, they’ve probably scavenged it.

Yes, There’s a Toilet. Yes, It’s Complicated.

Under the deck are nooks for the solar batteries and, in the middle, the fuel tank. Every hidden cavity is claimed; the raft is like a tiny apartment with drawers in the floor.

Firewood stacks in one corner, trash in another. A bouldering crash pad moonlights as a squishy couch when they’re ashore, which is such a good hack it’s hard not to steal the idea.

Bathroom talk: the forest is the usual plan, shovel and all. On the move, they use a dry composting setup. Privacy screen coming soon—before they float into more crowded places and start giving the neighbors a show.

When they land for the night, they tie two ropes to trees and drop the anchor off the stern. A little spiderweb holds the raft off the rocks. The canoe on the side is the grocery shuttle, the lumber truck, and the emergency plan.

There’s a ladder now—installed after a few too many swims ended with a head scratching, “okay, but how do we get back up?” It’s a small thing that makes the whole raft feel like a swimming dock.

Inside the Bell Tent: Tiny, Warm, and Weirdly Cozy

The entry door has clear panels, which sounds like nothing until you’re buttoned up against bugs or rain and still get a view and real daylight. It makes the space feel less like a tent and more like a tiny sunroom.

A tarp pulls duty on bad-weather days, but it’s wobbly, so they take it down for motoring. Practical beats perfect out here.

Inside, the bed turns into a couch after they stuff the sleeping bags away. They pinned up travel photos and a painting made by family. It’s a small thing, but it tilts the whole place toward home.

Under the bed: boxes of clothes, a couple instruments, and the kind of things you don’t need daily but are glad to find when you do. The storage game is strong.

The woodstove is the heart—glass on three sides so they can actually see the fire. It warms the tent fast and doubles as a slower-but-cozier cooktop.

Cooking Without a Fridge, Somehow Not Miserable

They built a small dining table and snagged a pair of borrowed chairs. It turns a campground vibe into a living room vibe, which is a neat trick in a circle of canvas.

A plastic bin of spices travels everywhere with them. There’s even a stash of homegrown chili from a friend, because bland food would ruin the romance.

Dinners are simple and great: pasta with tomato or pesto, or rice/quinoa/bulgur/couscous with beans and chickpeas. Fresh vegetables when they can, and sometimes it’s down to that one last apple before the next town. They run errands with a homemade handcart when there’s a road near the dock.

No fridge, but being vegan makes that easier. Leftovers just get eaten quickly, or they go on the woodstove when it’s cold and turn into something else.

Water, Baths, and the Soap Lesson

They refill drinking water at locks and village taps. When the jugs run low in between, the lake itself becomes Plan B, plus a purification tab for peace of mind.

Swims happen basically every day. For a proper wash, they heat a pot of water on the stove and turn the shoreline into a bathroom with a view.

A recent discovery: even biodegradable soap shouldn’t go straight into the lake. Now they carry the pot at least 60 meters inland and scrub up there. Feels a little extra, but it’s the right kind of extra.

Slow Days, Small Space, Big Sky

People imagine drifting equals boredom, but the daily list is long—moving the raft, anchoring, hauling groceries, refilling gas, washing dishes and clothes, the whole rhythm of small systems. They tie up to shore a lot so land is always a step away.

New spot after new spot can be a lot to take in. Sometimes they stay two or three nights just to let the brain catch up.

Costs aren’t huge, but they exist. Gas is the big one after food. The tradeoff is freedom, which is a slippery thing to price anyway.

They keep life minimal—most of what they own is inside the tent. A few winter bits live with friends, and there’s a car parked somewhere that’s half storage unit. The less they carry, the easier it is to float.

What’s Hard, What’s Worth It

Space is tight. Add weather nerves—the way a calm bay can turn windy at dawn and suddenly the raft is bumping at the rocks—and you get why they sleep light when forecasts look twitchy.

But the quiet is ridiculous. Remote coves, animal sounds, sunsets that make the tent glow. The engine noise breaks the spell sometimes; that’s why an electric outboard is at the top of the wish list.

In the end it’s about moving slowly with everything they need within arm’s reach, waking up somewhere new, and knowing they built the thing that gets them there. Not flashy. Just deeply good.