Walking the Northern Kungsleden

The Kungsleden is a national trail in Sweden meaning “The King’s Trail”. It runs 440km through some of Sweden’s most stunning scenery, from the mountains of the far north to the lakes and forests of the southern reaches. I’ve always marvelled at the striking mountain scenes tackled by the hikers of the world and one day, slouched on my sofa like the physical antithesis of the explorers on my phone screen, I decided that I would go somewhere vaguely topographically pointy. Researching trails around Europe to tackle before the rapidly approaching start of my first year at university, I found the Kungsleden (well, the northern most section) and the challenge of a solo trip to the Arctic Circle lured me in. Without much more thought or planning, merely based on the stunning photos I had seen online, I booked my flights to Kiruna for a weeks time.

This fairly dreary mining town (made even less appealing thanks to the uninspiring drizzle) didn’t make for the most spectacular welcome once I had emerged from the airport. When I say airport, it’s probably more accurately described as a garden shed with a few seats. It had a workforce I could count on my hands and a baggage carousel equivalent of one of those Yo Sushi moving conveyer belts (tiny and not quite as fun as you expect). Quite the change from Heathrow.

Completely unaware of how I was going to get to the start point of the trail, I quickly accosted three very English looking hikers. It turned out they were an American/British mix, they were eight years older than me and equally clueless. We all hopped on a bus and prayed. The bus did take us to the train station so maybe our prayers were answered? By the time the train arrived, some mind-numbing (yet Haribo filled) hours later, I hadn’t been able to buy a ticket due to the machine not working. There was no option but to blag it. Luckily, my bus companions took me under their wing. They were bewildered at both my motivation to do this at 18 years old but also how I had the smallest rucksack out of all of us (despite needing to camp). They on the other hand, were staying in the comfy but extortionately priced, log fire heated cabins which were plonked in the wilderness along the trail. Sitting in their prebooked train carriage, I wasn’t questioned by the guard and didn’t have to pay, much to my relief.

We parted ways as they went to different accommodation but we would meet again on the trail. Lacking the money to buy any decent food I munched on a Nature Valley bar and got ready for the next day. After an uneasy night in the dorm room, I got up early and headed to the small non-descript sign marking the northern start point of the trail. Despite my faultless journey of guesses, luck and hunger so far, I was ready to hike. When has poor preparation ever been a problem when you’re a four days walk from the nearest road?

Camping on the Trail

Finding my way: The trail is marked by the occasional painted rock on the path (which isn’t always clear) so I would recommend buying a map at the start in Abisko, this helped me a lot.

In Sweden there is a rule that is used across Scandinavia, it is called Allmansrätten, or “Every Man’s Right”. For those who are unfamiliar with the rule, it is the right of any person to camp out, in any area, as long as you are a reasonable distance from a property and do not destroy or disturb the environment. In England, if you camp anywhere other than a campsite you’ll end up with a farmer’s pitchfork were the sun don’t shine or worse… a fine. But in Sweden you can camp almost anywhere which means that everyone can enjoy the natural beauty that the country is blessed with.

The camping options varied for me. From comfortable wooded spots surrounded by rustling birch trees at the beginning and end of my trip, to the exposed rocky valleys higher into the mountains, the landscape was as changeable as the weather. On occasion, I would pay the small fee to camp near the small groups of huts that are along the trail to use their facilities but other times I camped away and alone. Sleeping near the huts was often worth it, with access to incredible birchwood heated saunas (in one place cutting the fuel ourselves with a hefty two-man saw). Once you had cooked yourself to near exhaustion in the glorified torture room, you can run out into the freezing cold meltwater rivers. These were horrifyingly refreshing and the knowledge that hypothermia was fast approaching was a fun adrenaline rush. It was however, the best way to wash and feeling less disgusting going to bed everyday was nice so I embraced it. Also, at one or two of the huts there were small shops and inside seating were you could get a warm drink or stock up on tonnes of chocolate. Guess which I did. Chocolate is practically one of your five a day.

Camping alone was also a great experience, however, I would advise bringing a book that you actually enjoy. Bill Bryson didn’t quite do the trick on those nights when the evening air wasn’t hospitable to sit in, so often I would just drift in and out of sleep to pass the time. But as you can see below, sometimes a book wasn’t needed. The view was enough.

At the end of my sunny and relatively short walk from Sälka to Singi, drinking from the fresh stream water as I went, I found the perfect spot to camp. It was out of the valley so to catch a breeze, not strong enough to be scared for my tent’s strength (like in Sälka) but enough to keep the mosquitos at bay.

I was content and my boots had just come off. Then out of the blue, the warden of the hut came over to tell me to move my tent because it was too close to the helicopter landing site. Stunned into silence by her terrible timing and my unequivocal sadness at having to leave my perfect pitch, I packed my tent and set off down the stream to an alternative pitching area. All seemed well until I stopped moving for a second. The mosquitos descended. Not like the swarms of midges you get in the UK, these were the apache helicopters of the blood drinking world, looking to desanguinate me at a moment’s notice.

If you can’t tell, my opinion on flying insects (and most insects in fact) is that they are the diabolical results of the experiment of life. This overflowing hatred may become a reoccurring theme throughout this blog as it seems insects are everywhere, who knew? That evening was a balancing act of having enough of my arms outside to cook dinner but enough inside so I wouldn’t be scratching my entire body the next day.

The Wildlife

Prancer, Blitzen, Dancer, Rudolph and Vixen. That’s all the reindeer I can name but I’m sure the native Sami people of northern Scandinavia can name plenty more because it’s literally their job to herd reindeer. It was therefore pretty cool to see them just wandering around the mountains, not something you see everyday.  I do, however, harbour a level of resentment for the animals. How can you resent reindeer I hear you ask? Well, it started with a day’s walk of over 20km, with some steep mountain inclines. I hadn’t yet reached the stacks of chocolate and so I carried a hefty bag full of trail snacks to keep me going. Not even a third of the way into the hike, this bag of sustenance, of pure energy, became a small handful of misery. I had dropped nearly the entirety of the packet on the sodden boggy floor thanks to my freezing cold, unresponsive hands. The remnants were shoved into my pocket to be nibbled at all the way to the finish of that day, but all I could think about was those pesky ever-watching reindeer eating my hard earned nuts and raisins. I can tell you, resentment came pretty fast.

Further into the walk, I started seeing rodents scurrying beneath the walkways that appear on parts of the trail to make for easier crossing of very rough or wet terrain. I was later told by some people on the trail that these were lemmings. These rodents are of course famous for their supposed group suicides, which I’m not sure is the greatest claim to fame, but as they say, theres no such thing as bad publicity. You keep doing your thing little lemmings.

At the end of the penultimate day of walking, was a lodge in a beautiful valley where I had my first shower in a week. It turned out the sauna/ river combo could only do so much for personal hygiene and I can’t understate how good a hot shower felt after many cold days and nights.

After my shower I treated myself to a nice dinner, which was not out of a packet but in fact in a real restaurant with real courses and real cutlery. I only paid for main course but sitting down at the table, a starter buffet of smoked salmon, endless potatoes, smoked reindeer and reindeer heart was laid out, and we were told to help ourselves. I wasn’t going to just ignore that opportunity to, not only get my revenge on the snack eating reindeer, but also fill my stomach. I was practically told to break the rules. Following this buffet was the main course, which was an incredible lamb dish. After scraping my plate clean I was sat there in almost eternal bliss, then pudding was served. Stewed apple with cream and oats. I came out of there with a big smile, stomach full of various animals including Comet. That’s another Reindeer!

That night I was told that I had missed out on an amazing display of the northern lights the night before and that my card had almost no money left on it. But with only one day left I was happy and ready to end the trail and get back home. (Little did I know that the next day of walking and the following day of travelling back to England would be a hellscape of serious all-consuming hunger, where a small sandwich, a waffle and a kinder bueno bar would have to last me two days).

Final thoughts

Walking in places that are only accessible by helicopter and waking up with the light of the sun to go walking alone in the mountains, was an experience I won’t forget.

The Kungsleden was the perfect adventure into the wilderness.