It had been too long since Three Points of the Compass had visited the Lake District. An upcoming Fjällräven event provided the impetus for a return visit. Needless to say, it was going to be wet!
My first experience of the Fjällräven Classic events had been on their Swedish Classic. That six-day backpack is the longest of the Classics and includes the northern section of the far longer Kungsleden. It is terrific walking country and I was impressed by the organisation. My only issue with the event had been the large number of participants and it is my intention to return to complete the entire Kungsleden when the trail is quieter. When Fjällräven subsequently introduced a Classic event in Patagonia, with more limited participant numbers, I was pleased to also complete that demanding hike. That long and expensive flight to Chile also gave me the opportunity to hike the ‘O’ Circuit in the Torres del Paine after the Classic. I had originally thought that was it for these events, harbouring no real wish to complete any of the others. But there is something about them that draws you in. Despite my aversion to packed paths, for some reason I applied to join their Classic in Denmark this year, and, again, for some unfathomable reason, decided to tack on the UK Classic to my list of long distance walks for 2026. Provided I was lucky in the draw for it is a popular event with limited spaces!
I hadn’t originally intended on participating in Fjällräven Classic UK 2026 but looking at my calendar early in the year, saw I had a few days free that coincided with the advertised mid-September dates. So when the time for early application came round at the start of March I tried my luck, to be immediately thwarted. Or so I thought. However this year Fjällräven made a right hash of their application process. Most who applied thought the event was rapidly sold out, but an email later in the day stated that incorrect links for applications had been sent out. This email provided the correct one, and presumably enough people had obviously given up and gone, disappointed, to work, that I was successful in my own late-in-the-day application, result!
Come the week, I found myself throwing a pack on the back seat of the car and driving north to the Lake District to participate in what would be my first UK Classic. I won’t go into too much detail on each day, a few photos describe the experience quite well. The Fjällräven Classic UK is not a wilderness hike but does take place in remote mountains, covering some rough ground. It attracts a wide mix of participants, from absolute beginners to the more seasoned backpackers. The hand-holding that Fjällräven provide by handling the logistics (for a reasonable entry fee) go a long way to settling the nerves of those new to the game.
There was heavy rain for much of my drive north. I took this as an omen on what to expect. The Lake District is a wet and beautiful location and I was aware that the route took us through an area that receives the most annual rainfall in England.
I had booked a Camping and Caravanning Club site in Ravenglass for the night prior to the event. As always, the site was spotless, quiet, well appointed and staffed by the friendliest people imaginable. I had a good sheltered pitch beneath tall trees and despite no hanging ‘widow makers’ above, I was careful to pitch away from any constant dripping. Tent up, I showered, changed and rested in the tent. I booked a table at the nearby Ratty Arms at the Ravenglass Heritage Railway for later and indulged in nap before walking down to the waterside hamlet for a brief explore of it’s two pubs. I noted that I was just metres away from the England Coast Path so will probably be back here at some point in the future.
Eating later, chilli nachos were followed by a decent chorizo burger and chips, but left half the chips and bun. It was a dark walk back to the campsite and was pleased that I had remembered to bring my little Rovyron torch.
I slept well but made two mistakes in the morning. Knowing that my entry fee would include provision of a gas canister at check in later, I had neglected to bring a fuel with which to brew up a morning mug of tea. Laying there under my quilt, in no rush to move, I scrolled my phone and messaged home. What I should have done was pack away a dry tent, instead, it was raining quite hard when I eventually rolled a now wet tent. It was a very short drive up the road to Muncaster Castle where I had arranged to leave my car during the event. This was where the hike would end and it was only later that I found that the lady giving directions in the car park was the castle’s owner. She is an enthusiastic supporter of the event and I would meet her and her sister at various points over the three days while they were marshalling at road crossings etc. Car parked and pack shouldered, I walked down through the castle grounds to their café. Enjoying a Full English and pot of tea while chatting to another Classic participants.
A couple of hours later, as numbers of participants steadily grew as further cars turned up to park, a couple of coaches pulled in to the carpark. Packs were shoved into the storage compartments and seats filled. It was a drive of just under two hours to the Langdale Valley where we would spend the night at the National Trust Great Langdale campsite prior to the off the following morning. Initially, I joined the ever-so-slow line queueing for registration, before realising I would be better off finding a tent spot earlier rather than later and returning to the queue once it had died down a little. Not everyone had caught the transport from the coast at Muncaster and many participants had arrived at the site directly and had already pitched. Those looking for a patch of green later no doubt found it a struggle. The Classic participants in their tents, along with numerous Fjällräven organisers and volunteers in their shelters were pretty well packed into the smallish field set aside for the event.
Later, registration complete, map and ‘passport’ collected, along with the all essential ‘leave no trace’ rubbish sack, packs of dehydrated food selected from the wide choice, and gas picked up. I fixed my orange event flash to the back of my pack. I turned to ablutions. Somewhat annoyingly, having arrived at the site so late, and registration etc taking so long, I missed every one of the talks taking place. There were three, each repeated. These were on farming, traditions and heritage, delivered by local farmer Jennie Hill. A talk on navigation from the Ordnance Survey, and Lakeland Flora and Fauna from Miscellaneous Adventures. This last group also made the banners, commissioned by Fjällräven, that were hung at the first and last campsites.
I then pulled on shoes for a five minute walk to the nearby Old Dungeon Ghyll. I was behind the crowd though and found that not only the locals and regulars, but a hundred or so of the participants were in front of me. I joined the long line that snaked out of the pub and across the courtyard, chatting to those around me as we very slowly inched our way to the bar. Clasping two pints I made my way back outside to somehow find space at a bench seat and table where I chatted to Rory, a walker making his regular pilgrimage to the area and was sitting nursing a pint, looking somewhat bemused by the influx of excited Classic eventees. His dog lazed quietly, occasionally looking up whenever his name was mentioned. Later I made my excuses and went to join a meet for solo Classic hikers. While not craving new friends I nevertheless chatted for some time with a small collective of shy female hikers, all slightly apprehensive of what the morrow would bring. I am not sure I helped their nervousness when I mentioned ticks and avoidance, something they were all unaware of.
Numbers thinned out. Just as well as the rain set in again and after a return to the bar for another beer, I was able to sit out side under cover while I ate. For the event, the Old Dungeon Ghyll had laid on a ‘trekkers special’ of chilli or curry for £10, but I instead ordered a very decent £15 pie, chips and veg off their regular menu. With a fairly early start to my day tomorrow, it was then time to return to my tent and get in some kip. The forecast was not looking good. Heavy rain tonight and expected to make a frequent reappearance over the next three days.
Day 1: Langdale to Rosthwaite via Stake Pass (480m). Distance: 14.5km. Total ascent 502m.
As expected, the first day offered not only a good days hike but off and on rain. I enjoyed it immensely despite it being just 14.5km. After the initial safety briefing there was a mass start. We slowly, ever so slowly, began to spread out along the route, but this was easily the busiest part of the entire three days. We were heading along the Mickledean Valley, swing a right, crossing a little bridge over a beck and beginning the meandering climb over Stake Pass via the old packhorse path. I took my time, taking my breaks when I wanted, and enjoying the view back down the valley. It isn’t particularly hard. Having rested at the top of the climb for a few minutes, I continued along the decent track, through the large hillocky landscape, to eventually reach Black Moss Pit where the first check point was located. Many stopped here for lunch but I felt no great need so carried on, over the now rougher terrain, to eventually beginning the long descent switchback to the Langstrath Valley, stopping to filter water below one of the many waterfalls on my right.
We dropped down to the Stonethwaite Beck that led us out onto the valley floor. The path was frequently wet, often more of a stream than a path. Good foot care is vital for this trail. With the central lakeland fells each side, the route crosses the beck and approaches the village of Rossthwaite in the Borrowdale valley.
While participants are permitted to wildcamp on the Sweden Classic, that is not the case for the UK event. After the pre-event pitch at the Langdale campsite, the first actual night on trail is spent in a farmer’s field in the Borrowdale Valley. I checked in at the large bright blue Fjällräven tent, received my stamp in my passport, and was directed to a neighbouring blue tent where lovely Borrowdale Bread with butter and coffee was on offer. It was a large field and campers were widely spread in search of the flattest of pitches.
It was only weeks after, that I realised that the farmer also ran a tea shop immediately adjacent to the field. Whatever had been on offer there was, I am sure, better than the Firepot meals provided by Fjällräven for participants. I am not a fan of this brand and much prefer the Real Turmat meals provided on other Classics. Once pitched and the usual imperfect tent wash completed, I hydrated with a hot oxo and went over to talk tents and gear with other campers, as you do! My evening meal was a poor Firepot Chilli.
The wind built up as squalls blew through and one gust delivered a lurch and partial collapse of the tent. The supporting carbon crossbar on top of my Durston X-Dome 1+ had splintered and snapped. On examination I found that the metal ferrule had slipped inside one half and the remaining short part that remained had proved insufficient with a subsequent failure. Fortunately the design if the tent is such that hiking poles can be used to support the sides so I was able to continue using the shelter. After the Classic, I contacted Durston and found that it had been a problem with ferrule bonding on earlier polesets delivered to the manufacturer by Easton. Without quibble and with much apology, I was sent the improved replacement design they now supply, that now simply uses an all carbon design.
The village offered a decent pub, so later, along with a hundred or so other hikers, I descended on the Royal Oak. After the expected queue to get a pint I sat outside with Keith and Graham, all of us hunkering down when brief splatters of rain blew through. We chatted in the gathering gloom but eventually it was time to retreat to our respective tents, attempting to avoid the cow pats while trying to find the right tent out of numerous clones.
Day 2: Rosthwaite to Wasdale via Sty Head (479m). Distance: 15km. Total ascent 532m
Despite gusty winds and lots of rain, I slept well. Packed and ready for the off, I lingered, chatting to other campers, in particular much discussion with the owner of a nearby dyneema variant of my own tent.
I thought the start was at half past eight but many seemed to leave prior to that. I hadn’t bothered with breakfast as I knew the YHA was only a short walk away, after a brief walk through the village, I dumped my pack outside and ventured in, to find it was another forty minutes until breakfast was available. I settled for a pot of tea and slice of cake, not perhaps the best of breakfasts.
Having crossed the river Derwent via a stone packhorse bridge, the route ventured into wet drippy woodlands, passing ancient farms, drystone walls galore and Stockley Bridge before a steep ascent toward Styhead Tarn, where the mid-day(ish) check point was situated. Then a descent to Wasdale, heading toward Wastwater. My feet had dried off quite well at this point, however, with a mile to go, the route now crossed a couple of becks, the final one being calf deep and entailing wading across. Oh well, I knew that was likely to be the case in the Lakes! After a short walk along farm tracks and through a campsite and back out the other side, I reached the familiar blue tents at the entrance to the lakeside campsite. It was the most beautiful of locations beside the lake if very basic facilities. Portaloos and a water bowser was about it.
Tonight’s camping fields were perhaps not the best. There were few level’ish pitches and those that were, were already taken. The ground was rocky below the surface and pegs either wouldn’t go in, required hammering in with a rock, or weighting down by said rocks. But with a bit of quartering I found something acceptable, threw the tent up (with additional trekking pole supports) and began a peeling off of wet clothes, tick check (none found), tent wash, warm dry replacement layers, and a hot brew.
I attempted to cook up a Firepot meal, but simply couldn’t stomach it and it ended up being thrown away. But there is no need to rough it on this Classic. There was a pub about twenty five minutes down the road, so later that evening I walked down for a couple of pints and a much appreciated pie and chips, far better than one of those Firepot meals. I walked back in the dark, thankful I had again remembered to bring a torch with me.
Day 3: Wasdale to Muncaster Castle via Burnmoor (271m). Distance: 19.5km. Total ascent 500m.
Needless to say, I slept well, partly due to the white noise from a tinkling burn just a few metres away. Away with the first, but definitely with the first, it was back down the farm track before swinging round to the right and beginning the ascent up the fell that had loomed over us last night. The gentle climb took us up to Burnmoor Tarn where I had been informed there was the opportunity to visit the Low Longmire stone circle, but I missed that somehow. It was a frequently boggy wet crossing of the black peaty ground.
Despite this, today is relatively easy walking. While the final day is the longest, it has less ascent the previous two days hiking and what there is is pretty gentle. But there is a nasty little steep climb right at the end of the day, just when you think you are almost at the end.
From Burnmill Tarn there is a careful, watch your slippery step, descent to the village of Boot. Eskdale Mill is situated here and some hikers pulled off trail to spend a little time here, mostly buying souveniers from what I could see. It is the last working water-powered corn mill in the Lake District and I poked my head in, decided there was little to delay me here and walked on. Philistine! Not for much further though. I stopped in at the village pub where I ordered a bacon roll and pot of tea. Returning from the loo to my seat I stopped to looked at the handpumps on the bar. “Is it too early for a pint?” I enquired. “It is never to early for a pint” was the reply. It was eleven in the morning. So my pot of tea was joined by a pint of the good stuff. Hey, I’m on holiday!
It is a fairly pleasant and easy walk from here, following the River Esk to the bottom of the ravine where the final on trail check point had been sited. Hot soup was on offer but again, I didn’t feel the need to stop. Once my passport had been stamped, I walked on, following on the heels of a large flock of sheep being herded by quadbikes and sheepdogs. Rain frequently blew through but trees gave mostly good cover.
With that final climb behind me, it was now a descent toward Muncaster Castle. Volunteers were out to ensure walkers weren’t squashed by urgent speeding traffic on the A595 when crossing over to enter the castle grounds. I swung down the metalled road, the sound of cheers and clapping growing louder.
I finished amongst the first couple of dozen hikers and having collected my patch and badge (no medal this year), after a quick celebratory cold beer, almost immediately went off to pitch my tent. We were spread out amongst the castle garden undergrowth and just about any patch of grass had a tent, or two, or three squeezed into it. I found a small uneven patch and somehow erected my little Durston on it. Then went off for a shower in the little caravan facilities and returned to find another tent had been put up within sneezing distance of my vestibule.
Back at the castle, large tents and stalls had been erected by the event organisers in its shadow, this is Fjällräven’s ‘Trekkers Inn’ and was the site of tonight’s festivities. Before settling with the ever growing crowd of hikers, I walked the castle grounds, just as well as I had initially been unaware that they had laid on archery, crossbows and axe throwing for us. I found out that I am rubbish with a crossbow. With all parties having now completed their day’s hike, with some late arrivals looking extremely wearied and some carrying obvious injury, in the growing night, a large marque tent now provided a decent and much appreciated mountainous feast. Considerable volumes of beer and wine were consumed by the gathered crowd and a local band completed a couple of sessions which I enjoyed, But I eschewed joining in with the dancing at the evening celidh that followed. I didn’t leave it tooo late before retreating to my tent as I had to drive in the morning. I slept well and the next day rose to find my tent standing almost alone, all other hikers had packed and gone in the early light. Finally packed and away, I walked up through the grounds to retrieve my car, made my long drive back south, and that, was that.
- Fjällräven Classic Sweden:
- Fjällräven Classic Chile:
