After our trip to Sweden, I finally understand people who have just returned from great adventures and struggle to find an elegant way to summarize everything they’ve just experienced. Where on earth do you begin? What do you highlight? What is it that you’re even left with
I can start by mentioning that we quickly realized just how much gear you actually need for a trip like this—and how little of it we had. So, from one beginner to another: borrow as much as you can in the beginning! The only thing we both invested in was a Fjällräven Kajka 65L, and that was hands down the best decision I made for my hiking life. Everything else, we borrowed: trekking poles, a tent, camel bags, sleeping bags, and sleeping pads.
We ended up packing >everything< for the trip, and this was also where the biggest learning experience lay. Every extra gram is a compromise on the comfort of a lighter backpack, and it’s a balance you constantly have to learn to navigate.
My personal favorites on the trip ended up being my zip-neck, which I both hiked and slept in, my green HS-50 socks, which—despite several days of hiking in pouring rain—never gave me blisters, and, not to be forgotten, my neck gaiter, which kept my ears and head warm when we hit freezing temperatures at the top of Kebnekaise and acted as a sleep mask when the sun blasted into the tents at 4 AM.
There are so many practical things I could talk about: recommendations for mosquito spray, how little cell service there is (which, for example, you should probably mention to your family, who only know you’re somewhere in Sweden climbing mountains and then don’t hear from you for six days...), recommendations for types of freeze-dried food, and so on and so on.
But all of that seems so insignificant compared to the experiences with real substance that you bring back from a trip like this. All the insights you gain when you walk 20–30 km a day with a backpack, letting your thoughts drift into the dusty corners of your mind.
This trip gave me exactly what I had hoped for—but in a completely different packaging.
Sure enough, we became smarter about hiking life, and as the days went by, it became almost second nature to pack up the tent, predict rain (and therefore pack our bags and layer up before the downpour hit), and our struggles with where did we put what in our bags disappeared, as we developed a complete mental map of where every piece of gear and clothing was stored, making the most essential items the easiest to reach.
It was SO cool to experience how quickly we adapted to our new life.
The thing I had feared the most before the trip (whether I could go to the bathroom in the wild) turned out not to be an issue at all—even though Sweden was sometimes so incredibly flat that you had to walk quite a distance to find a suitable rock to squat behind.
For one, some of the campsites along the way had toilet tents, and for another… well, when you’re eating freeze-dried meals 3–4 times a day, you simply don’t have a choice. The saying "when you gotta go, you gotta go" takes on a whole new meaning, and eventually, it just becomes another task you get done so you can move on with your day.
Like so many other things, it turned out not to be as bad as I had built it up to be in my head.
And so, with that experience, 130 km in my legs carrying a full pack, and yet another mountain added to my "been there, done that" list, I return to civilization.
Whether I’m hooked on multi-day treks is still uncertain, but I feel far more prepared for my next adventure. I know what to expect, what I need to be ready for, and what I’m capable of—and that is always a fucking fantastic feeling to have.
