Heading out into the Cairngorms on a 65km trek with a group of people you met the night before might sound like the opening line of a low budget horror film, but that’s exactly what we did on the inaugural Fjällräven Classic UK. Originating in Sweden, the Classic is an opportunity to trek through a stunning part of the world carrying everything you need for an adventure into the wilderness. It’s a chance to slow down and disconnect from everyday life and share an experience of a lifetime with fellow trekkers.

The first Classic in 2005 was organised by the founder of Fjallraven, Åke Nordin, to get more Swedes into the Swedish mountains and wilderness but the concept has now spread worldwide with eight events from South Korea to the US. This is the first time the event has been held in the UK having been cancelled and rescheduled due to Covid.

The concept of the event is to provide an accessible entry point into long distance trekking; you bring a tent, stove, and equipment for three days in the wilderness and Fjallraven will sort you out with freeze dried food, a waymarked route, and checkpoints to resupply with the essentials (including whisky).

We woke at Mar Lodge at the foot of the Cairngorms on an uncharacteristically sunny day; there was almost a hint of warmth in the September sun as the other 200 or so trekkers made their final preparations culminating in the bag weigh in.

Some bags weighed in at a svelte 8kg and other weighing a rather portly 24kg although there were well founded rumours that the rucksack in question contained four steaks and enough beer to stock a small pub. It immediately became clear that the Classic attracted a spectrum of trekkers; some were travelling fast and light whilst others preferred their luxuries.

Our 50l Klattermusen Bergelmer pack weighed in at a respectable 15kg, no doubt our carbon poled, expedition ready MSR Access 2 helping to trim excess weight. We also had a host of other top tier kit from the likes of Altberg, Montane, Thermarest and RAB which we’ll take a closer look at in another article.

The rousing sound of the bagpipes signalled the start of our adventure, heading alongside the river Dee as it wound its way through ancient pine forests on the opening kilometres of the route. This is probably a good time to introduce the hastily cobbled together adventure crew. Anna, an artic explorer and Fjällräven ambassador who had more wardrobe changes than a west end pantomime. Ian, a royal marine commando turned photographer who is most at home in damp and inhospitable places. Videographer Jamie who seems averse to a camera bag, instead opting to carry his camera by hand for three days and finally Neil, the source of endless Terminator quotes who also happens to be handy with a camera. Not forgetting Bilbo, Anna’s dog with far too much energy even after 65km.

The towering pines and lush forest floor dotted with toadstools soon gave way to a more typical Scottish landscape; wide glens with the giant, rounded hills of the Cairngorms looming in the distance. No sooner than we had started, we came across groups that had stopped for a coffee, taking in the already epic views and basking in the disconcertingly good weather. In no rush whatsoever we stopped and made a brew too, sharing snacks and getting to know our new companions.

Before getting into the real mountains, we had to visit our first checkpoint to get our trekking passports stamped. The checkpoints serve a dual function, primarily they are for safety so that the team of volunteers, marshals and mountain rescue service know where all the participants are on the route and to make sure no one gets left behind. The other purpose is to serve as a point to take a break, make a coffee and chat with other trekkers. Certain checkpoints also have resupplies of food, so we were never carrying more than a couple of meals to keep our pack weight down.

Climbing gradually for a couple of kilometres, the majestic Lairig Ghru opened in front of us. Some of the tallest mountains in the UK flanked us as we climbed, relieved that the weather was playing ball as in poor conditions this would be a very bleak landscape. The sun was on its downward arc towards the horizon, so the mountains cast colossal shadows across the floor of the glen, the smallest snicks of light casting pools of golden light onto the mountains opposite. It was truly a stunning sight and one that reminds us why the mountains are such a special place.

Another checkpoint at the Corrour Bothy which was still bathed in autumnal light and our attention turned to finding a spot to pitch the tents and make some dinner.

As the last of the light dipped below the peaks of Cairn Toul and Braeriach and the glen clings onto the dregs of the day’s warmth, we sit and discuss a breadth of topics that even The One Show would struggle to comprehend whilst cradling an array of food that is in the throes of rehydrating from pasta bolognaise to reindeer stew. Eventually the icy winds force a retreat into our respective tents and we attempt to recover from the days exertions before doing it all again tomorrow.

Waking with first light, the idyllic clear skies from the previous day have been replaced with a blanket of steely grey cloud; Scotland had returned to its traditional climate it seemed. Packing up camp we continued to climb towards the highest point of the route, the Pools of Dee. At around 850m above sea level, the climate here was very different to what might be found at lower altitudes; on this occasion a howling wind was whipping up the glen and we rapidly found ourselves in the clouds and getting soaked in the process. Another checkpoint ticked off and we pressed on and descended rapidly in search of more tranquil weather.

Enormous boulders that could break and ankle in a moment of instability and loose scree soon gave way to dense pine forests with webs of tree routes snaking across the trail. The remainder of the day was uneventful; wide double track meant we covered ground quickly and the relatively flat terrain offered respite for weary legs.

With the next checkpoint a matter of kilometres away, thoughts tuned to food once again which always seemed to offer a welcome distraction from sore feet and heavy packs.

A longer than anticipated stop meant it was mid-afternoon before we skirted the sandy banks of loch Morlich and gradually left the protection of the tree cover behind and headed back out into the bleakness of the Cairngorms.

We had planned to push on and gain a little more elevation before setting up camp, but warnings came from Mountain Rescue that snow and 60mph winds were forecast and if we wanted to press on that night we’d have to continue for another 15km to reach an area that was more sheltered. The thought of a 35km day couldn’t bear thinking about so we joined what seemed like everyone else on the Classic and pitched our tents on what little ground was left.

The only problem with the area we’d decided to camp was the sheer volume of water underfoot. Yes, we’d managed to pitch our tents in a bog. It’s comforting when every other sentence uttered from the surrounding bona fide explores and adventurers is something along the lines of ‘that’s wetter than I was expecting’ or ‘I’ve just stood in a bog’.

Fortunately, the snow and strong winds didn’t make it down to lower elevations but looking up then glen was not an appealing image the following morning. With even darker skies overhead, we set out in trepidation of what the Cairngorms could throw at us.

A lot, as it turns out. The ripping winds that we had been sheltered from lower down were now out in full force and the rain was pounding. Towering mountains either side of the glen funnelled the weather straight at our backs and much of the morning was spent head down trudging up a path that had since become a river. However, the foul weather conditions did little to impact sprits of trekkers we came across, a sense of camaraderie in the face of bleakness was emerged and smiles were still visible through the rain.

Finally, the rain and wind relented as we summited the pass and began descending back towards Mar Lodge. Breaks in the cloud allowed fleeting pools of light to dance over the glen and light up patches of ancient pines in the distance. Rainbows arced across the sky, a fitting end to an epic adventure.

Crossing the finish line we received the final stamp in our trekking pass along with a sense of achievement, but also sadness that our time in the Cairngorms had nearly come to an end, but not before some questionable dancing at the ceilidh and traditional Scottish scran!

Adventures like this always remind us why the mountains are such a special place, they bring together people from all over the world to experience the same sense of simplicity and freedom from daily life. Suddenly the most important task is finding water, food, and shelter rather than an endless to-do list and errands to run.

Some 20 years ago, the founder of Fjällräven established the Classic with a simple goal; to get more people into the great outdoors and experience the freedom in nature and its testament that after all those years, the concept still stands in an era where the world moves so quickly with barely time to breath.