Since 1967
A cabin, a cryptid,
and a lot of brushing.
Consent-first fibre
Every gram of hair we use was shed voluntarily. He is not sheared, harvested, farmed, or inconvenienced. He is brushed, twice a week, at his own request, and he leaves grinning every time.
That is the whole business model: be nice to the large friend in the woods, and he keeps handing you the warmest fibre on the continent.
1967
The first handshake
Great-grandpa Wray traded a thermos of coffee for a fistful of shed hair. He knitted one mitten that winter and never got frostbite again.
1984
The brushing post
We built a cedar post behind the cabin. He backs into it, we collect what falls. No trapping, no trimming, no fuss.
2009
Ridge-line testing
A guiding outfit took twelve pairs up above the treeline for a season. Twelve pairs came back. Nobody wanted to give them up.
Today
Eleven pairs a coat
Small batches, hand-stitched, and shipped from the same cabin. He gets first-aid-kit honey and a hammock in exchange.
Want to shake his hand?
You can't. He's shy. But you can wear his winter coat on your hands, which is arguably better.
Shop mittens