An Arctic Pilgrimage: Hiking Sweden’s Wildest Trail to the Remote Alkavare Chapel

Deep within the heart of Sweden’s most untamed wilderness, a journey of both profound physical challenge and spiritual reflection culminates in a small, ancient chapel. I wasn’t exactly in "Sunday best," having embraced the pragmatic attire of an Arctic expedition, but I had made some effort. A quick change of underwear and a baby-wipe bath constituted my personal ritual before entering the revered space. As we filed into the humble chapel at Alkavare, the rustle of waterproof jackets and the rhythmic stamp of leather walking boots on the flagstone floor – a necessary measure against the chill – underscored our identity more as an intrepid expedition than a conventional congregation. Fortunately, the priest, Mogens Amstrup Jacobsen, appeared to be as much a "man of the Gore-Tex" as a man of the cloth, his dog collar revealed only as he unzipped his black rain jacket. As the service commenced, the raw Arctic wind, whistling through the dry stone walls insulated solely with reindeer hair, caused the candles in their brass sconces to flicker, casting dancing shadows that mirrored the transient nature of our gathering in this enduring place.

Our pilgrimage to Alkavare had followed the Präststigen, or "Priest’s Trail," a formidable 37-mile (60km) route from Kvikkjokk. This ancient path could legitimately stake a claim as Europe’s wildest pilgrimage route, and unequivocally one of its most spectacularly beautiful. The Präststigen traces the footsteps of priests who, since the chapel’s construction in 1788, would embark on this arduous journey each summer to perform a single, annual service. Today, in a testament to enduring tradition, intrepid hikers and perseverant pilgrims can still attend that same evocative service, typically held on the last weekend in July. This historical continuity, spanning centuries, adds a profound layer of meaning to every challenging step along the trail.

Alkavare itself is perched on the western border of Sweden’s Sarek National Park, a formidable expanse often hailed as Europe’s last true wilderness. Sarek boasts many of the country’s highest mountains and steepest valleys, a dramatic landscape carved by glaciers and time. What truly sets Sarek apart is its deliberate lack of infrastructure: there are no campsites, no tourist huts, and only scant, unmarked sections that briefly touch the more famous Kungsleden trail. To venture here means embracing wild camping, carrying a heavy backpack laden with all necessities, and cultivating an unwavering sense of adventure. It was famously described by Swedish diplomat Dag Hammarskjöld in 1926 as vår sista stora vildmark — "our last great wilderness."

However, the very notion of "wilderness" in this context is complex and contested. "I hate it when people use the term ‘wilderness’," Christian Heimrot from Laponia Adventures, a local guiding operator, confided in me. I had joined him on a research expedition for a new Präststigen group trip, set to launch next year. "This is a living landscape, people have lived, worked and shaped this land for thousands of years." Heimrot’s perspective is vital, highlighting that what appears as untouched nature to an outsider is, in fact, a deeply cultural landscape. Indeed, Sarek National Park, as part of the wider Laponia region, was recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1996 for both its outstanding natural beauty and its profound cultural value. This dual recognition underscores the intricate relationship between the environment and its Indigenous inhabitants.

The Sami, Europe’s last Indigenous population, are woven into these landscapes as tightly and beautifully as the threads of pewter in their exquisite traditional handicrafts. Their word for the Laponia area is Sápmi, the very same word they use to refer to themselves, powerfully illustrating the indelible, symbiotic link between the people and their environment. Sarek lies at the heart of the Sami’s traditional reindeer herding grounds, a practice that has sustained their culture and economy for millennia. While modern Sami herders might now employ snowmobiles and ATVs to follow and manage their reindeer, their profound knowledge of, and kinship with, this landscape remains undimmed, passed down through generations. Their understanding of the land’s subtle rhythms, its flora, and its fauna is unparalleled, challenging any simplistic definition of it as merely "wild."

To even reach the start of the Präststigen is an expedition in itself. My journey began by crossing the Arctic Circle on the long road north from Luleå, a geographical marker that instantly evokes the profound shift in environment. In Jokkmokk, a vibrant hub famous for its annual Sami winter markets each February – a centuries-old tradition drawing thousands for trade, culture, and community – I met Christian at his warehouse to meticulously load our rucksacks for the six-night trek. From Jokkmokk, we journeyed an hour farther west to the small town of Kvikkjokk, nestled at the end of the road. From there, the official trailhead began with a short, scenic boat ride across the tranquil Sakkat lake, leaving civilization definitively behind.

The initial section of the trail climbed steeply, switchbacks tightly coiled through dense birch woodland. The ground was carpeted with wild blueberries and cloudberries, their vibrant colors and sweet-tart flavors offering intermittent natural sustenance and a reminder of the sub-Arctic’s rich bounty. These berries have been a crucial food source for the Sami for millennia, providing essential vitamins and minerals in a harsh environment. As we gained elevation, the woodland eventually receded, giving way to the exposed ridge that offered our first breathtaking, expansive view of Sarek’s interior. To the north, the cloud-covered summit of Bårddetjåhkkå loomed, a mountain of historical significance where, in 1911, Swedish geologist Axel Hamberg established an observatory. This pioneering outpost served as a base for critical meteorological and glacial studies, providing invaluable early data on Arctic climate and ice dynamics, long before global warming became a universal concern.

We quickly settled into the rhythms of wild camping, a routine dictated by the demands of the environment. Nights were spent under the perpetual glow of the midnight sun, an eye mask becoming an indispensable tool for sleep in the land of endless daylight. Water was collected from gin-clear glacial lakes, pure and invigorating. Our hearty suppers, often featuring rich reindeer stew – a nod to the local Sami heritage – provided essential fuel for the arduous days. The silence of the Arctic night, punctuated only by the distant murmur of a river or the whisper of the wind, was profound and restorative.

The subsequent days saw us hiking deeper into Sarek, traversing the vast Vállevágge valley. The skies often reflected the vivid blue of the Swedish flag, a stark contrast to the rugged, grey rock formations. The silence was almost absolute, broken only by the occasional breath of wind sweeping across the open plains. We were navigating using Hans Fowelin’s "Priest’s Path" guidebook (currently only published in Swedish), but with no official marked trail, our progress relied on following the faint whispers of waymarkers: cairns. While some were solidly built square towers, clearly placed by human hands, many were little more than one rock precariously propped against another, easily lost amidst the vast expanses of scree and moraine. Route-finding became an art, demanding constant vigilance and a deep understanding of the landscape.

Alongside familiar buttercups and heather, the tundra displayed a surprising array of specialized flora: bright blue blossoms of mountain gentian, a hardy alpine flower; clusters of red ptarmigan berries, a food source for both birds and people; and the otherworldly looking wild angelica, historically a vital source of vitamin C for the Sami, crucial in preventing scurvy during long Arctic winters. This botanical richness is part of what drew the renowned botanist Carl Linnaeus to Sarek during his epic expedition through northern Sweden in 1732, a journey so significant that the first part of the Priest’s Trail is sometimes referred to as Linnaeus’s Trail.

On our fourth day of hiking, the Alkavare chapel finally appeared, a modest yet monumental sight on a bluff above the glacial blue waters of Alggajávrre lake, framed by soaring peaks and deep valleys. It was an utterly beautiful, almost spiritual revelation after days of strenuous trekking. A wide grin spread across my wind-burnt face, a smile that even the necessity of wading across icy rivers – a common feature of hiking in Sarek, with no bridges to aid passage – shin-high in glacial meltwater, failed to diminish. These river crossings, often challenging and bone-chilling, are a stark reminder of the park’s untamed nature and the reliance on raw physical effort.

After successfully rowing across the Miellátno river, utilizing one of the sturdy wooden rowing boats thoughtfully left on each bank by the park rangers – a crucial piece of infrastructure in this roadless land – we climbed up to the chapel late on Saturday evening. There, Priest Jacobsen greeted us with a warm, beaming smile. Over tea, he shared his story: he and his family had been dropped off by helicopter at Alkavare on Friday morning, and this was his first time leading the service here. He lamented that fewer clergy in the diocese volunteered for the assignment. "It is physical, hard work and the days are long," he admitted, before heading off to attend to practical duties: re-tarring the chapel’s roof and fixing one of the rowing boats that had come loose and floated away down the river – later to be returned, swinging dramatically beneath a helicopter. His dedication, extending beyond spiritual duties to the arduous physical upkeep of this remote outpost, was deeply impressive.

Sunday mass began promptly at 11 am the following morning for our small band of pilgrims, numbering just 11 in total, including the priest and his family. The chapel’s interior was simple, yet imbued with history. The altar featured a plain wooden cross and cloths on loan from the church in Jokkmokk. These cloths, adorned in the poster-paint palette of traditional Sami clothing – vibrant reds, blues, yellows, and greens – served as a poignant reminder that the chapel had been originally built not as an act of benevolence, but as part of a darker chapter in history: the forced Christianization and eradication of the Sami people’s shamanistic beliefs in the 18th century. This historical context added a layer of somber reflection to the service, acknowledging the complex legacy of the site.

After the service, we gathered outside for coffee and pastries, sharing stories and reflections, before beginning our hike home. Christian, ever the guide and educator, was keen that we hiked via Sweden’s point of inaccessibility, or otillgänglighetspunkten, just over the border from Sarek in the Padjelanta National Park. This geographical marker denotes the country’s point furthest from any road or town, approximately 31 miles (50km) in fact, and is often cited as western Europe’s remotest spot. Marked not with a grand monument but simply a humble circle of quartz stones and a trio of reindeer antlers, it felt no more or less remote than much of the previous week’s hiking.

Standing there, I was struck by a profound realization: what made Sarek and the Präststigen truly special wasn’t just the scenery, as undeniably beautiful as it was. It was the interwoven tapestry of people – the resilient Sami, pioneering explorers like Hamberg and Linnaeus, and the motley congregation we’d briefly joined. It was a route rich with human history, cultural depth, and enduring spirit, firmly deserving of more visitors who seek to understand, not just observe. "I told you," Christian said, grinning, his eyes twinkling with a deep understanding of his homeland, "It isn’t a wilderness." It was, instead, a vibrant, living landscape, shaped by nature and humanity alike, waiting to share its profound stories.

The trip was provided by Laponia Adventures, which will lead a guided, small-group trip along the Priest’s Path to Alkavare in July 2027, and offers equipment rental and advice for independent hikers. For more information on Sarek National Park and northern Sweden, visit arcticsweden.com.