The Arctic Circle and The King’s Trail – my reflections. By Sophie Morris
When I told people I was heading to the Arctic Circle to trek the King’s Trail, the reactions felt oddly familiar. A mix of admiration, confusion and the occasional: “Haven’t you done enough of this sort of thing now?”
They weren’t wrong.
Not long before, I had completed the Sahara Trek with Adventurous Ewe to raise money for St David’s Hospice, an experience that had pushed me far beyond anything I thought I was capable of. I’d shared that journey with my wonderful sister-in-law, Ros, and newfound friend and fellow trekker, Nigel, and despite the heat, the sand, and the blisters, had somehow made it enjoyable enough that, when another challenge was discussed, the three of us didn’t hesitate to sign up.
This time, though, we added Annmarie, another brave (or perhaps equally questionably mad) member to our team, and swapped scorching desert for the Arctic Circle.
From one extreme to another.
Where the Sahara drained you with heat, the Arctic tests you with exposure. It is vast, remote and utterly indifferent to your plans. The terrain is relentless underfoot, uneven, unforgiving, and all being walked in while wearing unconventional footwear – snowshoes!
And then there was that day. Our first day.
The longest, toughest stretch of the trek. A significant climb. And the weather simply refused to cooperate.
The wind howled at over 11-mile-an-hour gusts, cutting through every layer we had. Snow blew directly into our faces, stinging our skin, reducing visibility, and making every step feel harder than the last. Progress was slow, deliberate, and at times, deeply uncomfortable. Conversations stopped. Heads went down. It became about putting one foot in front of the other and not thinking too far ahead.
It was physically, without question, one of the hardest days I’ve ever experienced.
And yet, somehow, we kept going.
But for every moment like that, there were others that made it all worthwhile.
The next day, when the sun decided to show up, the landscape transformed completely. Snow-capped peaks stretched endlessly into the distance. Frozen lakes shimmered in the light. The air felt crisp and alive in a way that’s hard to put into words.
It was breathtaking.
Not in the casual, overused sense of the word, but in a way that genuinely stopped you in your tracks. The kind of scenery that makes you feel very small, but very lucky at the same time.
Those were the moments that stayed with me.
But it wasn’t just the landscape that defined the experience. It was the people.
We bonded, as you do, over shared discomfort. Blistered feet became a daily topic of conversation. The food, if we’re being honest, was memorable, but not always for the right reasons. Fire pot meals, eaten out of bags after long days, quickly lost their novelty, and a reindeer meal I’d rather forget.
And yet, we laughed.
A lot.
Evenings were spent in our bunk dorms, where sleep was never quite guaranteed thanks to what can only be described as perfectly synchronised snoring. There’s something about being completely exhausted that makes even that funny.
And then came the storm.
Severe enough that, ultimately, the decision was made to evacuate us from the mountain.
Now, I won’t pretend I was entirely disappointed. After days of pushing through tough conditions, there was something undeniably comforting about the change in pace. Our final day was spent holed up in a cabin, watching the storm rage outside from the warmth and safety of the lodge.
There was proper food, not served in a bag. There was a cold beer. There was warmth, laughter and a quiet sense of relief. It felt, in its own way, like the perfect ending.
And it would be impossible to write about this experience without mentioning Jim and the team at Adventurous Ewe. His expert guidance was constant throughout, quietly reassuring and always professional, particularly when conditions became more challenging. Jim had a way of knowing exactly when encouragement was needed, offering the right words at the right time to keep us moving forward. And just as importantly, he brought a sense of humour and lightness to the group, lifting spirits when energy was low. That balance of expertise, encouragement and genuine warmth made all the difference.
The King’s Trail was hard. Really hard.
It tested endurance, resilience and mindset in ways that are difficult to explain unless you’ve been there. There were moments of doubt, moments of discomfort and moments where the easier option would have been to stop.
But it also gave something back.
Friendship. Perspective. A reminder of what you’re capable of when you push beyond what feels comfortable.
And perhaps most importantly, the understanding that the hardest days are often the ones that stay with you the longest. Not because they were enjoyable at the time, because they weren’t, but because of what they taught you.
The King’s Trail reminded me that even when conditions are at their worst, when the wind is in your face, and the path ahead feels endless, you’re capable of more than you think.
Even if you’re quite happy to finish that journey with a beer in hand, watching the storm from indoors.
Yes, it was tough. But it was also one of the most remarkable, rewarding and breathtaking adventures I have ever experienced.
Would I do it again?
Without hesitation. There is nothing quite like it.
Sophie Morris
